THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


ILLUSTRATED. 


1898 
Eroqums  County  STinua  JBrtnt, 

VVATSEKA    ILL. 


COPYRIGHT. 
Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1898. 

By  EDWIN  BEARD, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  ( 

ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED. 


Illustrations  by  Geo.  H.  Benedict  &  Co. 

CHICAGO. 


TS 


PREFACE. 

:N  placing  this  volume  before  the  public  the 
author  is  not  in  quest  of  fame.  Had  such 
been  the  motive,  better  judgment  might 
have  suggested  the  traveling  of  some  other 
road  to  find  it.  Our  chief  desire  has  been 
to  collate  and  preserve  such  of  the  stanzas 
written  during  a  brief  but  busy  career  that 
would  best  illustrate  the  nobler  impulses 
and  thoughts  of  life.  Some  of  the  con 
tents  of  the  succeeding  pages,  friends  have 
seen  proper  to  denominate  as  "Poems." 
They  may  be  mistaken.  If  conscientious 
in  their  judgment  they  will  not  be  held 
accountable  for  damages. — The  Author. 


759433 


T 


DEDICATION. 

HIS  volume  is  dedicated  to  a  Devoted  Wife, 
whose  loving  presence  has  prompted  the 
impulse  and  inspiration  of  many  of  its 
stanzas,  and  whose  jjentle  importunities 
have  been  an  impelling  power  in  the  search 
for  plans  that  have  made  its  publication 
possible  under  adverse  circumstances  and 
conditions  which,  otherwise,  mi^ht  not 
have  been  overcome.  — K.  B. 


CONTENTS. 

POITRAITOF  AUTHOR,  Frontispiece 

PREFACE, 

DEDICATION, 

BUDS  AND  BLOSSOMS,  (Illustrated) 

SEVEN  YEARS. 

A  MOTHER'S  LOVE,  16-17 

Now,        -  18 

THE  CHILD,  19-20-21 

THE  SHIP  OF  LIFE,        ------ 

FORGETFULNESS  OF  FATE, 

KEEP  THE  MAIN-TRAVELED  ROAD,        -       -  25 

THE  SUN-FLOWER,  (Illustrated)        -        -        -        -        26 

A  THANKSGIVING  PLEA  FOR  THE  POOR,        -       -        27 
LIFE'S  SEASONS — 

SPRING,  (Illustrated) 

SUMMER,  (Illustrated)        - 

AUTUMN,  (Illustrated)       -  30 

WINTER.  (Illustrated) 
BROTHERS  AS  BUILDERS.        ... 
Two  VAGRANTS,       - 
WHEN  WINTER  SETS  IN. 
SUMMER  DAYS  IN  WINTER  TIME,        -       -  -      35 

NOT  DONE  RAVIN'  YET, 36-37 

THAT  AIR  NEW  WOMIN.  -       -       38-39 

SHARPS  AND  FLATS,       -  40 

THAT  FATAL  DAY, 41 

EVOLUTION  OF  A  NAME,  (Illustrated)        -        -         42-43 

ONE, 44-45 

SONG  OF  A  STORM. 46^47 

To  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH,  (Illustrated)  48-49 

TROUBLES  THE  YEAR  AROUND,        -  50-51 

MY  THANKSGIVING,       -       -  52 

'Tis  CHRISTMAS  JUST  THE  SAME,  53 

THE  BLUE-JAY  AND  THE  BERRY,  (Illustrated)       -       54 
INTEMPERANCE.        -       ...  55 

HERE'S  TO  CHICAGO.        -  56 

ODE  TO  AUTUMN, 57 

SALUTES  OF  DAWN,        -       -  58 


BELLS,  (Illustrated)  59-60-61 

LIPK  'o  JIM  JONES,  62-63 

LEAF  YE\R  VALENTINES,  64 

A  COLLOQUY,       -  65 

A  RlVGES,  66 

Two  DAYS,  67 

THE  STAR  OP  EMPIRE,  -       68 

A  MESSAGE  OF  HOPE,  69 

LIFE'S  HALF-WAY.  70-71 

KAT  'EM  AS  You  PICK  'EM,  (Illustrated)  72 

"BOY  WANTED,"       -  73 

THAT  BABY  BOY  OF  MINE.  74 

PUBLISHED  BY  PEN,  75 

A  POINTER  TO  POETS,       -  76 
THE  CRIME  OF  SNOW  BALLIN',  (Illustrated)        77  78-79 

LOVELY  MAY,       -       -       -  80 

SPARE  SPELLS,       ...  81 

OH  VHERE  ISH  DOT  PUP?  82 

SONG  OF  THE  INSTITUTE.  8'{ 
THE  AUCTIONEER'S  LAMENT.  (Illustrated)     84-S5-86-87 

CALENDAR,  1898,  88 

THE  "OLD  ORIENTAL,"  89 

AN  ECLIPSE  ECLIPSED,  90 

THEY  SAW  IT,  90 

A  SON  OF  THE  SHADE,  91 

A  GUESS,       -       -  92-93 

LINES  TO  A  LEGAL  LIGHT.  94 

Two  CITIES,  95 

EFFORT,  96 

UNEARNED,  96 

MEMORIES  OF  BOYHOOD,  97 

ILLUSTRATION,  (City  of  Lafayette)  98 

LAFAYETTE,  99  100-101 

ILLUSTRATION,  (Home  of  my  childhood)  100 

TALE  OF  A  BRASS  KETTLE,  (Illustrated)     102-3-4-5 

TEN  YEARS  AGO,  106 

IN  MEMORIAM.  107 

•     THE  DYING  TIME  OF  YEAR.  -       -       -       108-109 


10 


A  SUMMONS.  110 

DOWN  THE  VALLEY.  110 

LINES  TO  HIS  MEMORY,  (Illustrated)  111 

GONE  WITH  THE  OLD  YEAR.  112-113 

IN  HEAVEN  ONE  YEAR,  114 

A  SHINING  MARK,  (Illustrated)  115 

CROWNED  BY  ANGEL  HANDS,  llti-117 

ILLUSTRATION,  (American  Flag;)  118 

POEMS  OP  PATRIOTISM.  119 

AN  INQUIRY,       -  120 

A  "WAH"  PROPHECY,  121 

WEYLER  WITH  HER  YET,  121 

WILD  NOTES  OF  WAR.        -.       -  122 

GOING.        -       ...  123 

APPROPRIATE  EVERYWHERE.  (Illustrated)  124 

POSSIBILITIES,        -  124 

To  HEROES  OF  THE  SEA.  125 

ODE  TO  CUBA'S  FREEDOM,  (Illustrated)  120-127 

ILLUSTRATION.  (The  Bird  of  Freedom)  128 

To  A  BRIDE.  129 

TEN  LINES  TO  TEN  YEARS.  (Illustrated)  130 

A  MEMORY.        -  131 

A  BIRTHDAY  WISH,  131 

THREE  MONTHS  OF  CHILDHOOD.  131 

CLUBS,        -       -  132 

To  A  GRADUATING  CLASS,  132 

Go  GATHER  THE  GEMS.  132 

POETIC  "FEET"  DISPLACED,  133 

A  SEVERE  STROKE,        -  133 

SUSPICIOUS  OF  THE  BRITISH,  133 

DREAM  OF  THE  TEACHER  MAN,  -       134 

WAYS  OF  THE  WORLD,  134 

THE  WRITER  AND  THE  FIGHTER.  135 

Rl'GULATED  BY  THE  MOON.  135 

EDITORS  TAKE  IT  Too,  135 

TRIUMPH.        -  -       -      136 

LIFE  LINES.        -------        -        136 


11 


Closing  the  sense  within  the  measured  time. 
'Tis  hard  to  lit  the  reason  to  the  rhyme. 

—  Uryilon:  Art  of  Ittttry.  II 


12 


•  ••  >  i  / ; 

/  v 


No  wreath  of  orange  buds 

and  blossoms  fair 
Adorns  thy  costume  or 

entwines  thy  hair 
To-day,  as  did  a  few 

brief  years  ago, 
But  in  thy  beaming  smile 

love's  radiant  glow 
Shines  full  as  bright 

as  when  the  bride 
Pledged  love  for  love 

whate'er  betide; 
And  tho'  some  cares  of  life 

rest  on  thy  brow, 
Two  buds  of  beauty 

and  promise  now 
Unfold  their  blossoms 

'mid  happy  bowers, 
To  brighten  and  sweeten 

this  home  of  ours. 


SEVEN  YEARS. 
A; 

[December  27,  1894.] 

How  many  years  have  passed  away? 

How  many  seasons  have  come  and  gone? 
How  many  returns  of  that  bright  day? 
How  many  cycles  of  time  have  flown? 
How  many,  dear  one. 
How  many  have  gone? 

How  many  years  since  then  have  fled? 

How  many  days  that  make  those  years, 
Of  time  gone  by  since  we  were  wed, 

Have  brought  their  joys,  have  brought  their  tears, 
Their  cares  and  fears — 
How  many  years? 

The  mystic  number  seven  surrounds 

My  thoughts  of  time  that's  passed  and  gone, 
And  ties  of  home  where  love  abounds 

Have  grown  in  strength  as  years  went  on. 
And  loved  ones  come 
To  brighten  home. 

And  many  trials  perchance  we'll  meet, 

Along  the  busy  way  of  life, 
But  time's  too  short  and  life  too  sweet 
To  count  a  care,  permit  a  strife 
To  enter  life 
Of  man  and  wife. 

As  we  recount  those  passing  years, 

That  bring  return  of  Christmas-tide. 
Forget  the  cares,  forget  the  tears, 
And  number  joys  which  were  supplied 
Since  man  and  bride 
Stood  side  by  side. 


15 


A  MOTHER'S  LOVE. 
A; 

From  the  distant  home  of  the  twinkling  star, 
From  glittering  realm*  where  angels  are. 
From  Pearly  Gates  where  God's  own  stay. 
An  angel  winded  its  peaceful  way. 

God  sent  the  angel  from  Heaven  above. 
To  find  the  fairest  of  His  earthly  love: 
That  angel  came  in  lovely  May 
When  skies  were  bright  and  world  was  gay. 

During  its  mission  'mong  earthly  bowers 
That  angel  entered  a  garden  of  flowers 
Filled  with  the  fragrance  of  blossoms  fair. 
Ani  plucked  the  rarest  and  sweetest  there. 

As  the  angel  from  the  garden  passed 

Its  vision  o'er  a  home  was  cast, 

Where  a  babe's  sweet  smile  and  a  mother's  love 

Were  deemed  as  gems  for  Heaven  above. 

And  the  Angel  gathered  that  Love  serene. 
The  Flower  it  plucked,  the  Smile  it  had  seen. 
Caressed  and  cherished  them  all,  and  then 
Spread  its  white  wings  for  Heaven  again. 


1(5 


As  it  arose  to  the  Heavenly  dome. 
With  fragrance  and  treasure  of  earthly  home. 
Of  the  Flower  and  Love  and  Smile  it  brought. 
The  Flower  was  fairest,  the  Angel  thought. 

But  ere  it  reached  that  golden  strand. 
The  Flower  that  had  grown  on  earth  so  grand. 
Had  withered  and  fallen  'neath  the  Angel's  feet. 
And  faded  and  gone  was  the  Smile  so  sweet. 

A7anished  and  lost  were  the  Smile  and  Flower: 
The  Angel  poised  on  Heaven's  tower 
With  a  Mother's  Love,  the  theme  and  song 
Of  an  angel  host,  of  an  angel  throng. 

The  sweetest  of  earth  or  Heaven  above 
Is  the  precious  theme  of  a  Mother's  Love: 
It  withereth  not  nor  fadeth  away 
Like  the  smile  of  a  child  or  flowers  of  Mav. 


17 


V 


NOW. 


Why  brood  and  ponder 

O'er  things  back  yonder 
Beneath  the  veil  and  misty  cast 

Of  fallen  tears 

In  by-gone  years. 
Along  the  trail  of  the  dead  past. 

When  ''Now"  doth  need 

Thy  careful  heed? 

Why  shouldst  thou  borrow 

Aught  from  tomorrow y 
Then  break  asunder  that  tearful  tie 

For  sorrows  fled 

And  hopes  long  dead 
And  buried  under  the  years  gone  by: 

Cease  thy  repine 

When  "Now"  is  thine. 

The  hour  to  fret 

Has  not  come  yet. 
And  time  that's  fled  knows  thee  no  more: 

The  fancied  path 

The  future  hath 
ShouW  not  be  tread  so  long  before: 

Then  make  thy  vow 

With  naught  but  "Now." 


18 


THE  CHILD. 
X 

Sun  is  hot, 

Heat  of  day. 
Little  tot 

Hies  away: 
Tireless  feet. 

Playful  hands, 
On  the  street. 

In  the  sands: 
Watchful  care 

Of  parents  foiled. 
Tangled  hair. 

Dresses  soiled: 
Pouting  lips, 

Streaming'eyes. 
Mamma  whips 

And  baby  cries. 

Perfumes  rise 

In  garden  plots. 
Baby  spies 

Forget-me-nots: 
There  it  lingers 

'Mong  the  bowers, 
Dainty  fingers 

Feeding  flowers 
To  the  bees 

The  garden  near, 
'Neath  the  trees. 

Devoid  of  fear: 
The  bees  —  the  why's 

Of  baby's  weep. 
The  sobs  and  sighs, 

Then  soothed  to  sleep. 


19 


Tresses  flying 

In  the  breeze. 
Then  esp3ring 

Yonder  trees. 
Baby  wanders 

To  the  woods. 
Where  it  ponders 

Nature's  moods: 
Myriad  throats 

In  summer  ringing. 
The  music  notes 

From  wildwood  springing. 
(ilad  and  sweet 

The  sony-birds  singing, 
Joy  complete 

To  childhood  bringing. 

Leaves  a-mingling 

With  the  snow. 
Fingers  tingling. 

Cold  winds  blow: 
Dreamy  nights. 

Days  of  noise. 
Wild  delights. 

Christmas  toys: 
Wintry  days, 

Cosy  nooks, 
In-door  plays 

And  picture  books: 
Ever  humming. 

Parlors  ring 
Till  the  coming 

Of  the  spring. 


20 
J 


In  realms  above 

The  angel  smiles, 
With  radiant  love, 

That  love  the  child's: 
The  household  bud, 

The  blooming  flower, 
The  sweet  and  good 

Of  every  hour; 
The  innocence, 

The  hope,  the  smile, 
The  recompense 

Of  care  and  trial: 
The  earthly  gem, 

The  joy  of  home, 
The  diadem, 

And  Heaven's  own. 


21 


THE  SHIP  OF  LIFE. 

Serene  and  calm  in  the  harbor  of  youth 

A  Ship  of  Life  at  anchor  lay. 

Freighting  its  hold  with  knowledge  and  truth. 

Gathering  the  ballast  for  a  stormy  way. 

And  on  that  Ship  in  the  harbor  calm 
Two  happy  mariners  were  you  and  me. 
As  from  its  decks  we  looked  beyond 
And  visions  beheld  but  a  stirless  sea. 

No  cloud  obscured  the  vaulted  blue 
As  that  good  Ship  turned  out  to  sea. 
That  Ship  so  strong,  and  brave  and  true. 
And  all  on  board  was  joy  and  glee. 

Our  pilot  guided  that  Ship  away 
With  snow-white  sail  and  stately  mast. 
And  rocks  and  reefs  that  hidden  lay 
Were  left  in  trackless  paths  of  its  past. 

For  many  days  this  Ship  of  Life, 
With  prow  turned  toward  a  distant  strand. 
Sailed  on  in  peace:  nor  angry  strife 
Disturbed  the  calm  of  a  voyage  grand. 


But  the  captain  saw  a  cloud  arise 

On  the  horizon  of  the  blue, 

And  o'er  the  sea  and  o'er  the  skies 

A  fierce  storm  spread  and  mad  winds  blew. 

Then  angry  waves  did  wildly  play, 

Our  Ship  was  swept  and  swayed  and  tossed — 

Its  snowy  sails  were  torn  away, 

And  some  of  its  stately  masts  were  lost. 

But  a  pilot  true  and  captain  brave, 

And  an  ever  faithful,  valiant  crew 

Battled  the  adverse  wind  and  wave, 

And  guided  that  Ship  the  tempest  through. 


The  Ship  that  sailed  life's  ocean  wide, 
And  braved  the  fury  of  the  blast, 
Drifting  with  Eternity's  gentle  tide, 
Has  entered  the  Harbor  of  Peace  at  last. 


23 


FORGETFULNESS  OF  FATE. 
X 

When  life  unfolds  like  bloom  of  flowers. 
And  happiness  doth  crown  his  hours. 
And  rapturous  scenes  around  him  lie. 
Man  feels  he  was  not  born  to  die. 

When  brighter  hopes  with  each  day  dawn 
And  new  ambitions  lead  him  on. 
WThen  fortune's  star  is  shining  hifjh.- 
Man  feels  he  was  not  born  to  die. 

When  man  enjoys  the  zenith  of  his  power. 
He  knoweth  least  the  frailties  of  the  hour, 
And  in  his  vain,  exalted  pride 
Forgets  that  all  before  him  died. 


•24 


KEEP  THE  MAIN'TRAVELED  ROAD. 

How  many  there  be  who  have  drifted  and  swayt. 
From  beaten  paths,  when  they  should  have  stayed. 

In  the  traveled  road  with  their  burdensome  load! 
How  many  have  wandered  and  lost  their  way 
When  lured  to  the  wilds  and  led  astray 

'Along  dangers  so  rife  on  the  road  of  life. 

And  out  of  the  paths  by  their  fathers  trod 
Have  lost  their  hope  and  lost  their  God! 

Turn  not,  O  traveler,  to  paths  that  are  new 
And  fraught  with  tangles  awaiting  you: 

Turn  not  to  the  by-way,  but  keep  on  the  high-way, 
Let  the  main-traveled  road  e'er  be  your  guide, 
For  near  the  path  on  either  side, 

Are  countless  cares  and  innumerable  snares: 

Shun  them.  O  traveler,  those  thorns  and  the  strife 
That  lurk  in  the  shadows  by  the  road  of  life. 

While  you're  sustaining  life's  care-crowned  load 
Your  safety  lies  in  the  main-traveled  road: 

While  on  life's  rambles  keep  out  of  the  brambles, 
Turn  not  to  the  left  nor  turn  to  the  right, 
But  press  straight  on  with  manhood  might 

'Long  the  highway  grand  that  leads  to  the  land 
Where  all  is  a  gleam  of  childhood  fair — 
No  poisonous  shades  nor  wildwood  there! 


25 


THE  SUN /FLOWER. 


F  stalwart  strength 
And  gallant  length, 
And  like  a  tree, 
It  rises  high — 
The  great  Sun-flower 
Whose  blossoms  tower 
Toward  the  sky — 

The  flower  of  flowers  for  me. 

While  morning  sun 
?Neath  horizon 
Its  light  doth  hide, 
This  golden  flower 
Turns  its  fair  face 
With  comely  grace 
And  waits  the  hour 
To  meet  and  greet  its  guide. 


And  as  the  brilliant  orb  of  da}*, 
That  lights  the  world  and  all  its  way, 
Pursues  its  path  across  the  sky, 
This  stately  flower  that  rises  high 
Above  the  sphere  of  other  flowers. 
(And  like  a  dial  to  note  the  hours) 
Unmindful  of  the  blazing  light 
Nor  dazed  by  splendor  of  the  sight. 
Careens  its  bloom  with  gentle  grace 
And  views  the  sun  fair  in  the  face. 


What  other  flower  from  morn  till  night 
Kndures  the  power  of  sun  so  bright, 
And  when  the  day  comes  to  its  close. 
And  all  the  world  seeks  sweet  repose. 
With  stalwart  form  stands  firm  and  tri' 
To  gather  the  drops  of  falling  dew, 
Or  freshen  its  leaves  in  gentle  rain 
To  greet  the  sun  at  morn  again? 
Xo  flower  of  valley  or  mountain  side 
Is  like  the  one  the  sun  doth  guide. 


A  THANKSGIVING  PLEA  FOR  THE  POOR. 

The  rich  man  may  revei  in  a  mansion  grand. 
And  proffer  the  poor  no  helping  hand. 
But  an  unseen  One  will  watch  his  way 
And  charge  his  account  for  Judgment  Day  : 
But  he  who  seeks  to  aid  the  poor, 
To  add  a  mite  to  their  scanty  store, 
To  answer  the  calls  where  poverty  pleads, 
Will  receive  reward  for  golden  deeds. 

Full  many  a  hovel  its  own  tale  tells, 
Where  destitution  and  sadness  dwells, 
With  the  biting  blasts  of  winter  near 
And  the  only  warmth  a  scalding  tear 
That  flows  from  a  mother's  saddened  eyes 
As  she  prays  to  Him  beyond  the  skies 
To  help  the  dear  ones  left  to  her  care, 
And  lighten  her  load  of  dark  despair. 

If  you  have  aught  for  yourself,  and  more, 
Go  search  the  city  from  door  to  door 
Till  you  find  a  home  of  the  worthy  poor 
Where  thoughts  of  kindness  will  long  endure ; 
Let  charity's  strength  be  broug'ht  to  bear 
To  break  the  pinions  of  poverty  there, 
And  you'll  be  blessed  in  God's  own  way 
For  the  good  deeds  done  Thanksgiving  Day. 


LIFE'S  SEASONS. 


"Thou  Art  the  Play-time  for  thr   World:' 


SPRING. 

Bright  morn  of  life.  ()  Spring,  with  skies  so  fair. 
The  childhood  of  the  year,  exempt  from  care: 
Replete  with  joy  and  happiness.  O  Spring. 
ICndeared  art  thou  for  pleasures  that  you  brinjjf. 

Thy  early  song's  of  birds  and  hum  of  bees. 
Thy  Mowers  of  field  or  plain  and  buddinjj  trees, 
Combine  their  loveliness  with  hope  and  cheer 
To  make  thee.  Spring,  the  youth-time  of  the  year. 

Thy  joys  are  bountiful  indeed,  and  free. 
Thou  art  the  play-time  for  the  world,  and  me. 
Thy  tears  that  flow  are  few.  and  '.hey  but  seem 
To  tall  to  freshen  flow«r  or  quicken  stream. 


SUMMER. 


Successor  thou  of  bright  and  vernal  May, 
The  high  and  heated  plane  of  life's  mid-way, 
Where  all  the  wars  of  man  are  fiercely  fought, 
And  all  his  victories  are  dearly  bought. 

Oh,  season  thou  of  toil-time  and  its  strife. 
Thy  days  are  struggles  ?mid  the  storms  of  life, 
When  man  among  a  myriad  of  fears 
Looks  back  upon  his  happy  spring-time  years: 

And  then  in  wonderment  the  future  scans 

For  recompense  of  toil,  reward  of  plans: 

And  brightening  hopes  at  times  flash  thro'  his  teats 

To  paint  a  beauty  scene  on  Autumn's  years. 


"Oh,  .Season  Thnu  of  Toil-time." 


.Van  Reward  doth  bring.'1 


AUTUMN*. 

Oh,  golden  harvest  time  that  lies  between 
The  sultry  storms  of  life  and  wintry  scene: 
The  time  when  tinted  foliage  of  trees 
Is  drifting  down  and  onward  with  the  bree/e. 

And  if  'tis  asked  the  fate  of  sons  of  men. 
And  what  shall  be  the  harvest  gathered  then: 
"For  sonic  the  weeds  of  woe,  and  blight  and  care 
Is  all  the  fruitage  that  is  garnered  there.'" 

Thou  season  that  to  man  reward  doth  bring 
For  thoughts  and  deeds  in  Summer  and  in  Spring: 
A  golden  time  for  all  supplies  to  reap — 
To  watch  and  wait  for  that   Kternal  Sleep. 


"WINTER. 

Oh  Wintry  time!  thy  frosts  have  killed  the  flowers; 
The  birds  have  flown  from  thee  to  sunny  bowers, 
Thy  biting  blast,  and  bleak  and  freezing-  breath 
Hath  come  at  last,  and  unto  all  is  death. 

That  sparkling  stream  of  life  in  childhood's  days, 
Congealed  and  silent  now — its  winding  ways 
Are  drifted  deep,  and  desolation  rife 
Hath  spread  o'er  all,  to  mark  the  end  of  life. 

The  battles  fought  have  made  man  brave  for  thee, 
Oh,  death!  his  spirit  vision  strong,  to  see 
Beyond  the  beating,  blinding  storms  you  bring, 
And  view  the  splendor  of  Eternal  Spring. 


Hints  hace  Flown  from  Thee: 


BROTHERS  AS  BUILDERS. 
X 

If  I  should  tell  a  brother  to  build, 

How  and  when  and  where,  'twould  be, 

Not  as  most  of  the  world  is  willed, 
A  temple  on  land  or  a  ship  on  sea. 

It  would  not  be  to  build  in  massive  piles, 

That  tower  toward  the  azure  arch  of  sky, 

With  length  and  width  a  measure  of  miles, 

With  steeple  and  dome  full  mountain  hiyh : 

Nor  with  statel\-  columns  and  marbled  halls 
Lined  with  silver  or  adorned  with  <jold. 

Or  beauteous  frescoes  to  deck  its  walls, 

Like  some  rich  palace  of  the  kin»s  of  old : 

But  build  ye  brothers,  as  brothers  should  build 
A  vast  store-house  of  brotherly  love. 

And  see  that  the  same  is  abundantly  filled 

From  its  uttermost  depths  to  the  skies  above. 


TWO  VAGRANTS, 


The  Spendthrift  flung-  his  dollars  far  and  wide. 
The  Miser  clung  to  his.  gold  was  his  guide: 
The  Spendthrift  at  the  end  of  life  had  naught. 
The  Miser  but  the  gold  that  greed  had  bought. 

And  both  were  much  despised  by  all  good  men: 

The  Spendthrift  pondered 

O'er  fortune  squandered 
And  sadly  sighed  to  live  life  o'er  again: 

The  Miser  fingered 

His  cash  and  lingered 
A  while  at  Heaven's  gate,  then  in  despair 

He  turned  aside. 

(Admission  denied) 
For  wealth  could  not  gain  him  an  entrance  there. 

No  thought  they'd  given  to  life's  most  solemn  side: 
One  lived  in  greed  for  gain  —  in  want  he  died. 
All  disinherited  by  death  at  last  — 
And  therefore  both  as  vagrants  should  be  classed. 


33 


WHEN  WINTER  SETS  IN. 
A; 

.Some  one'll  he  fooled  'lony  'bout  spring 
When  winter  sets  in.  they  will,  by  jin»! 
Needn't  be  expectin'  this  kind  o'  weather 
To  jes'  linger  'lonjf  and  hold  out  f  rever. 

When  winter  sets  in  now  purty  soon. 
And  hazy  lookin'  rinjjs  wrap  'round  the  moon. 
You  can  jes'  look  out.  there'll  be  fallin'  weather 
One  o'  these  days,  'taint  far  off  ne'ther. 

When  winter  sets  in  and  winds  be»'in  to  blow. 
When  it  {jets  stinj^in'  cold  and  you're  shovelin'  snow, 
You'll  wish  you  was  down  on  the  S'wanee  river. 
There  or  thereabouts,  to.  stay  f  rever. 

When  you  see  people  {join'  'lon»r  the  street 
Shiverin'  like  a  leaf  and  stampin'  their  feet. 
And  the  north  wind  howls  all  the  nifjht  through. 
Whistlin'  in  the  window  half  way  into  you 

When  winter  sets  in  'lon<£  'bout  spring. 
And  blizzards  strike  every  livin'  thinif. 
You'll  wish  somethin'  else  'sides  winter'd  set  in. 
You'll  wish  nice  davs  would  come  'round  a«r'in. 


SUMMER  DAYS  IN  WINTER  TIME. 
X 

When  such  warm  days  as  some  of  these — 

But  afterglow  of  other  season's  time — 
( 'ome  saunteriii'  'long  with  balmy  breeze, 

A  flirtin'  like  with  winter  time, 
An'  claim  in'  kin  to  fall  an'  spring 

An'  changin'  all  of  winter's  ways, 
It  puzzles  one  to  tell  such  things 

From  bland-like.  meek-eyed  summer  days. 

This  wearin'  tints  of  Autumn's  hours 

Instead  of  winter's  robe  of  snow. 
These  out  of  season  April  showers — 

Why  does  the  weather  keep  actin'  so? 
The  storm  king  soon  will  come — perhap 

All  angered  at  this  summer  maid 
A-lingerin'  round  on  winter's  lap. 

An'  she'll  be  sorrv  that  she  staved. 


NOT  DONE  RAVIN'  YET. 


Dunraven  came  across  the  sea: 

He  came,  we  yuess. 
After  the  cup  which  you  and  me 

As  countrymen  possess. 

He  brought  with  him  an  English  yacht. 

An  English  tender. 
And  all  the  English  fads  he  brought. 

To  race  Defender. 

Those  two  fleet  boats  sailed  out  to  sea 

For  fifteen  miles  or  more: 
Valkyrie  lost  two  out  of  three 

Uncorked  his  vials  and  swore 

Dunraven  did:  his  boat  was  beat 

Both  out  and  back. 
Defender's  pace  was  most  too  fleet 

For  British  tack. 


With  frenzy  wild,  despair  and  wrath 

And  froth  and  foam 
Were  scattered  'long  the  watery  path 

He  traveled  home. 

A,nd  now  old  "Dun"  in  wild  commotion 

Still  keeps  his  ravin'  up. 
While  on  this  side  of  the  old  ocean. 

We  simply  keep  that  cup. 

We  fear  not  war  nor  battle's  horde. 

Compared  with  he — 
When  will  that  Englishman   oh  Lord! 

Done  ravin'  be? 

Send  word  to  that  old  English  fop 
Whose  talk  has  been  so  rough. 

To  just  "haul  in"  his  sails  and  stop — 
His  boat's  not  swift  enough. 


THAT  AIR  NEW  WOMIN. 


Oh.  lands  a-bloomin'!  an  sakes  er-live! 
How  that  air  New  Womin  ever'll  contrive 
To  take  the  place  o*  her  ole  man 
An'  reckon,  an'  fiyirer.  an'  plot,  an'  plan 
The  way  o'  life  all  clean,  plum  through 
Is  more'n-any  wife  I  know  kin  do! 

That  air  New  Womin!  oh.  iiddlesticks! 
Ye  can't  learn  old  do<rs  many  new  tricks  * 
I  never  'low'd  'twas  born  in  them 
To  be  chan<jin'  jobs  with  thare  ole  men. 
Fer  wimin's  place  is  'lon^f  with  man 
-list  helpin'  like,  not  leadin'  the  van. 

I'm  in  habit  o'  speakin'  out  plain  an'  bold. 
When  a-talkin'  to  others  o'  the  new  an'  old: 
I'd  let  men  manage  the  ships  on  the  seas 
An"  fijrht  men's  battles  'bout  as  they  please: 
An'  let  'em  be  'tendin'  to  climbin'  o'  trees. 
An'  wimin  the  mendin'  an'  the  quiltin'  bees. 

Some  things  thar  be  that  'peer  miyhty  strange. 
Seems  {join'  purty  fur  to  make  sich  a  change: 
I've  heerd  it  preached  an'  saw  it  writ  with  pen. 
An'  listened  to  'em  tell  'bout  bein'  born  a«j'in: 
Wonder'f  that's  the  way  one's  got  to  pursue 
When  they  sjit  to  be  a  real  worn  in  new? 


The  ole  man  an'  me's  been  travelin'  together 

Not  worryin'  much  'bout  wind  or  weather. 

But  jist  sort  a-keepin'  in  the  main-traveled  road. 

Each  helpin'  to  bear  the  other'n's  load. 

An'  now  we're  comin'  close  down  by  the  shore. 

An'  one  of  us  two  must  soon  go  before. 

We  haven't  time  now  fer  things  new-fangled. 
Fer  the  .lines  of  life  might  git  all  tangled. 
If  the  drivin'  was  done  by  some  now  womin. 
An'  we'd  miss  the  road  that's  buddin'  an'  bloomin' 
With  sweet  smellin"  flowers  on  most  every  hand. 
An'  leadin'  straight  on  to  Parydize  land. 

We've  plodded  'long  life's  journey  nigh  through. 

An'  done  the  best  we  knowed  how  to  do: 

I  want  to  be  new  when  death  calls  me. 

An'  the  only  new  womin  that  I  keer  to  be 

Is  an  angel  womin.  an'  one  o'  that  band 

In  world's  a-comin'  at  God's  right  hand. 


SHARPS  AND  FLATS. 
X 

'Gene  Field  wrote  'em.  that's  what  he  did 
He  didn't  si<fn  his  name  hut  he  couldn't  keep  it  hid 
When  he  wrote  of  polly  ticks  or  some  "land-slide." 
An'  told  of  the  tricks  that  pollytishuns  tried. 

The  only  time  'Gene  ever  £ot  badly  mixed 

With  his  "Sharps  an'  Flats."  an'  'tween  an'  betwixt 

The  two  couldn't  tell  just  where  he  was  at. 

Was  when  he  mistook  a  ''Sharp"  for  a  "Flat." 

A  fellow  like  'Gene  needn't  sij^n  any  name 
To  tell  who  he  is  or  build  up  his  fame. 
All  of  his  readers  throughout  the  broad  land 
Could  tell  when  they  saw  his  masterly  hand. 

I  used  to  think  that  this  'Gene  Field. 
With  the  ready  wit  his  mind  could  yield. 
Should  call  'em  all  "Sharps."  an'  let  "Flats"  be 
For  some  other  fellows  not  as  sharp  as  he. 


THAT  FATAL  DAY. 
A; 

There's  just  one  day  in  all  the  year 

When  riches  dare  not  show  their  head. 
When  naught  but  poverties  appear, 
When  all  the  men  of  wealth  are  dead. 
And  all  their  cash's  concealed  away. 
The  first  of  May. 

That  day.  the  one  of  all  the  year 

Of  which  assessors  most  inquire. 
All  men  of  riches  do  most  fear. 
And  some,  perhaps,  are  wont  to  hire 
The  same  the  year  before  'twas  said: 
"Not  worth  a  red." 

However  strange  that  it  may  seem 

All  men  <jet  poor  the  first  of  May: 
At  other  times  their  riches  teem 
And  wealth  flows  free  each  other  day, 
But  on  that  one  brief  day  of  spriny 
They  do  not  own  a  thinjj. 


41 


EVOLUTION  OF  A  NAME. 

When  life  began — an  infant  then 

And  fads  had  not  enthralled  her— 
She  was  a  laughing  little  gem 

And  MAGGIE'S  what  they  called  her. 

When  infant  days  had  passed  away, 
This  little  one  to  girlhood  grew, 

And  'long  about  her  tenth  birthday 

Just  simple  "  MAG  ''  was  all  she  knew. 

The  spring-time  of  her  life  had  come 
And  she  had  known  no  troubles  yet, 

Except  her  name  and  thoughts  of  some 
Who  called  her  MARG  for  MARGARKT. 

Another  lapse  of  years  I  think 

Passed  by — this  maid  had  reached  sixteen — 
Her  name  likewise  stretched  out  a  link 

And  took  the  form  of  MAGDALENE. 

Sixteen — sweet  time—  right  age  you  know 
And  in  this  world  of  fads  and  fears 

Quite  old  as  girls  e'er  wish  to  grow — 

Therefore  with  caution  count  those  years. 

As  time  wears  on  what  she  calls  life 

Becomes  routine,  each  day  the  same, 

And  burdensome,  'less  mid  the  strife 
There's  evolution  in  her  name. 


This  girl  is  now  a  graduate 

With  great,  wide  sleeves  and  smile  so  sweet- 
Upon  her  name  doth  hang;  her  fate — 

She  changes  it  to  MARGUERITE. 

And  for  a  while  the  social  whirl 

Employs  this  dear  one  gay  and  tall- 

An  ever  blooming  summer  girl. 

With  MARGUEKITA  for  her  call. 


If  she,  perchance,  some  day  should  wed, 
Or  cast  a  vote,  or  ride  a  bike, 

With  bloomers,  she'd  get  it  in  her  head 
To  call  it  RITA,  or  the  like. 

And  'mong  the  droves  of  this  girl's  kind 

If  you  should  ever  meet  a 
"Coming  Woman,"  perhaps  you'll  lind 

Her  name  transformed  to  GKIT.I 


ONE. 

One  little  one! 

That  figure  next  to  nau»ht. 

What  wonders  hath  it  wrought! 
What  triumphs  won! 

.Just  one!  of  little  thin«s. 
And  yet.  indeed,  how  "Teat 
The  consequence — the  caste  of  fate 

That  often  clings 

Around  a  single  one 

In  contests  rife 

When  races  'lonjj  the  road  of  life 
Are  run,  and  won!. 

One  little  word  set  free — 

I'n bound  the  shackles  of  the  slaves. 

One  shot  opened  a  thousand  j^raves- 
The  cost  of  victory. 

One  proudly  chanted  chorus: 
"My  Country  'tis  of  Thee. 
Sweet  Land  of  Liberty"- 

One  fla«r  waving  o'er  us. 


44 


One  star—  it  guided  them 

By  the  twinkling  light  it  gave 

To  One  who  came  the  world  to  save- 

The  Star  of  Bethlehem. 

And  oh!  one  doom! 
That  once  for  all  awaits — 
The  shrouded  mystery  of  fates! 

One  death!  one  tomb! 

One  life!  one  love 

To  lead  us  on 

To  one  Eternity  beyond- 
One  Heaven  above. 

One  life  is  done — 

We  pass  the  portal 

Of  realms  immortal 
And  there  abide  with  One. 


45 


SONG  OF  A  STORM. 
X 

The  sun  had  gone  behinl  the  hills. 

A  dusky  twilight  veilel  the  world. 

It  held  the  key  to  portals  of  the  night 

And  bade  the  day  depart. 

I  stood  in  wonderment  anJ  awe 

Of  nature's  chanceful  scenes: 

Above  horizon  'rose  a  dismal  pall. 

At  intervals  a  glimmering  sheen 

Of  lightning  sent  its  darting  rays 

Along  the  shapeless  banks  of  .blacknens 

And  foretold  the  corning  of  a  storm. 

The  air  was  solemn,  sad  and  still. 

And  no  sound  broke  the  darkened  calm 

Save  the  cricket's  chirp  or  locust's  lonely  song. 

Or  hurrying  tread  of  feet 

All  homeward  bound. 

Then  thunder's  distant  roar  was  heard. 

And  lightnings  fiercer  gleamed 

And  sent  their  vivid  darts  across  the  sky, 

And  nearer  drew  the  storm: 

Its  breath  fanned  the  forest  and  the  field 

And  swept  the  grasses  of  the  plain. 

And  to  the  city's  inmost  gates  it  came 

And  whirled  among  the  streets  and  spires. 


Then  sudden  broke  the  Hood, 

And  torrents  as  they  fell 

Brought  fright  and  fear  to  all: 

And  fierce  winds  blew  and  bent  the  boughs 

Of  sturdy  oaks  and  elms 

Until  they  kissed  the  earth, 

Or  bathed  their  verdure  grand 

In  raging  rivulets  that  ran. 

The  fierce  blasts  hurried  on 

And  soon  had  passed; 

The  stately  branches  of  the  trees 

That  swayed,  and  sighed  and  sung 

The  harsh  notes  of  the  raging  storm, 

Had  reared  to  lofty  heights  again: 

The  creatures  of  life  who  fled 

From  perils  of  the  scene 

To  sheltered  homes,  came  forth  again 

To  view  the  lightning's  glare  that  fainter  grew, 

And  hear  the  distant  knell — 

Receding  echoes  of  the  storm's  farewell; 

And  the  moon  threw  its  silvery  tints  upon 

The  curtain  folds  of  darkness  that  had  drawn, 

And  the  sentinel  stars  of  heaven  shone 

And  sang  their  purest,  sweetest  song. 


47 


TO  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH. 

From  out  the  bleak  and  frozen  North — 
Land  of  snow  and  wind,  and  storm  and  sleet, 
Where  all  the  wrath  of  elements  meet, 
Robbing  the  earth  of  its  warmth  and  heat — 

We're  flying  forth, 

Knroute  to  sunny,  southern  lands, 
Where  perfumed  petals  of  blooming  flowers 
Ope  wide  their  beauty  'mid  sylvan  bowers. 
To  lighten  the  hearts,  to  brighten  the  hours, 

Of  happy  bands. 

Unlock  your  icy  grasp,  O  frigid  North! 
Release  your  victims  from  snow-clad  clime. 
And  bid  them  speed  on  swiftly  flying  time 
From  lands  of  prose  to  lands  of  rhyme 

To  the  Sunny  South. 


4S 


THE   SUNNY   SOUTH. 


TROUBLES  THE  YEAR  AROUND. 


The  coal  man  now  is  striving  hard. 

His  patrons  one  and  all  to  please: 
He  sends  around  his  lit^.e  card 

Just  after  ev'ry  little  freeze. 

His  cards  and  coal  are  not  the  worst: 
They  fill  the  bins  and  rob  no  till: 

But  every  month     the  very  first 
He  sends  around  "a  little  bill." 

As  soon  as  winter  thaws  away. 

The  ice  man  hauls  his  waj^on  forth. 
And  lonjr  before  the  first  of  May 

Is  peddling  extract  of  the  north. 

And  while  the  ice  man  travels  on 
The  man  of  milk  thinks  it  quite  nice 

To  come  alonjr  when  he  is  ""one 

And  place  some  milk  upon  that  ice. 

You  talk  of  men  of  ice  and  coal. 

The  milk-man  overshadows  all. 
The  year  around,  exacts  his  toll 

Through  winter,  summer,  spring  and  fall. 


When  winter  comes  and  we've  passed  by 
The  scorching  summer's  heated  spell. 

There  is  no  longer  need  to  try 
To  cool  the  milk  down  in  the  well. 

Think  not  when  winter  nears  this  man 
Of  cows  and  cans  and  pumps  and  pails. 

That  aught  outwits  his  mental  plans — 
That  his  invention  ever  fails. 

With  old  Jack  Frost  he  makes  a  deal 
To  keep  the  cream  that  sticks  to  can — 

Sell  only  that  which  won't  congeal — 
The  pure  sky  blue!  oh  heartless  man! 

The  milk-man's  days  are  not  in  vain: 
He's  not  in  business  for  his  health. 

For  he  has  water  on  the  brain — 
His  route  by  water  leads  to  wealth. 

And  sometimes  there  is  something  wrrong 
Supposed  of  him:  but  hush!  don't  tell 

He  makes  those  strings  a  trifle  long- 
That  hang  those  cans  down  in  the  well. 


MY  THANKSGIVING. 


Thanksgiving  day  arrived  again  this  year. 

With  joys  of  summer  past  and  winter  near: 

The  free/ing  winds  had  brought  a  message  from  the  north. 

The  driven  snows  had  come  and  covered  all  the  earth: 

I  thought  of  days  gone  by  and  what  they'd  brought  to  me 

As  I  had  drifted  out  on  life's  uncertain  sea: 

But  how  to  pass  that  day  of  thanks,  and  joy  and  glee. 

And  make  it  one  of  pleasure  is  what  most  pu/./.led  me. 

My  thoughts  turned  to  my  home — deserted,  desolate. 

The  morrow  seemed  all  crowned  with  darkest  kind  of  fate 

As  I  wandered  lone  and  dreary  along  the  street  that  night. 

Keenly,  sadly,  feeling  the  sorrow  of  my  plight. 

And  wishing  for  the  presence  of  loved  ones  far  away. 

For  cheering  words  of  wife  and  the  prattle  and  the  play 

Of  those  who  brighten  home  with  childhood's  loving  mien- 

In  vain  I  tried  to  shorten  the  miles  that  intervene. 

And  through  that  sleepless  night  I  struggled  on 

And  plead  release  from  such  conditions  till  the  dawn. 

That  marked  the  Hrst  approach  of  coming  morn. 

Brought  new  conclusions  and  thoughts  new-born. 

As  bright  as  the  day  that  with  them  came  along. 

As  happy  as  the  birds  of  spring-time  song: 

I  thought  of  my  old  home,  its  joys  and  tears. 

Of  a  good  old  mother  and  her  burden  of  years. 

And  the  hours  were  few  that  I  had  to  wait 

For  a  train  that  crossed  to  another  state. 

There  my  Thanksgiving  this  year  was  passed: 

'Twas  a  joyous  day.  and  its  memories  last: 

The  scenes  of  boyhood  were  revived  and  reviewed. 

And  the  old-time  paths  retraced  and  pursued, 

And  this  is  the  way  I  battled  the  fate 

Which  shadowed  the  eve  of  Thanksgiving  date. 

When  sad  and  lonely  and  loved  ones  are  gone. 

Just  pass  your  Thanksgiving  with  mother  at  home. 


'TIS  CHRISTMAS   JUST  THE  SAME, 
X 

The  weather  may  be  rough 

An'  the  roads  in  very  tough 
Kind  o'  shape  when  Christmas  gets  around. 

An'  things  not  all  a-movin' 

In  ways  that  you're  approvin' 
An'  your  lower  lip  a  hangin'  lower  down 

Than  it  ever  hung  before. 

An'  business  mebbe  poor. 
Just  because  the  people  couldn't  come  to  town: 

But  no  one  ain't  to  blame, 

'Tis  ( 'hristmas  just  the  same. 

If  the  creek's  a  playin'  pranks. 

Overtlowin'  uv  its  banks 
On  account  o'  rain  a  drippin'  from  the  skies. 

An'  your  corn's  dirt  cheap 

An'  you  just  hev  to  keep 
Holdin'  on  a  waitin'  fer  the  price  fer  to  rise — 

Tho'  no  market  fer  yer  stuff 

There's  water  quite  enough 
Without  sheddin'  more  from  a  pair  o'  sad  eyes: 

There's  no  one  much  to  blame, 

'Tis  Christmas  just  the  same. 

Then  don't  be  a  worryin' 

As  the  time  goes  hurryin' 
On,  an'  Christmas  comes  reg'lar  once  a  year. 

You'll  live  much  longer 

Grow  better  an'  stronger 
An'  see  more  Christmases  in  your  career 

If  you  don't  complain — 

Keep  mud  off  the  brain 
An'  your  soul  an'  eyes  keep  bright  and  clear; 

It  don't  matter  much  how  Christmas  came. 

'Tis  joyous  Christmas  just  the  same. 


THE  BLUE-JAY  AND  THE  BERRY. 


There  was  a  jay-bird-   a  pesky,  squawky 
That  sat  on  a  bouyh  in  early  spring 
Watching  the  bloom  in  the  berry  patch 
Impatient  and  eajfer  a  berry  to  snatch. 

And  on  the  morning  of  each  new  day 
Would  come  the  return  of  this  blue-jay. 
To  perch  on  a  tree  near  the  garden  <rate. 
To  look  and  linger,  to  squawk  and  wait. 


The  housewife  his  habits  quite  well  knew. 
And  rather  suspicious  of  his  presence  »rew: 
She  tried  to  rout  him  from  the  place 
By  plantin.tr  a  scare-crow  with  frightful  face. 

This  jay-bird  left  that  nij^ht  in  anxious  mood. 
Flew  from  the  place  where  the  scare-crow  stood. 
But  before  the  berry  to  crimson  »rew. 
That  jay  came  back,  and  now  the  day  through. 

As  if  no  fear  he  ever  knew 
Since  he  was  hatched  a  bird  of  blue. 
Sits  on  the  arm  of  that  scare-crow 
Anxiously  watching  the  berry  krro\\  . 


INTEMPERANCE. 


The  greatest  curse  that  lives  today. 
For  ages  past  has  held  its  sway. 
And  reigned  as  a  despot  with  iron  hand 
In  ev'ry  clime  and  ev'ry  land. 
It  enters  circles  fair  and  bright. 
To  sow  a  care,  to  spread  a  blight. 
And  seeking  there  to  rule  the  hour 
With  its  beguiling,  conq'ring  power. 
It  crowns  the  festal  board  with  mirth: 
Purports  to  be  of  dazzling  worth: 
Imbues  each  one  who  lingers  there 
With  degradation  and  despair. 
Its  victim  does  not  think  so  then 
But  tips  his  glass  and  drinks  again. 
When  life's  advanced  he  comes  to  grief. 
But  past  all  time  to  gain  relief. 


HERE'S  TO  CHICAGO. 

A: 

Traverse  the  land  from  Tom  Heed's  state 

To  ( 'alifornia's  San  Die.yo: 
Coast  all  the  shores  from  Behrin»'s  strait 

To  land-locked  harbor  of  Pa»o-Pa<jo. 
Or  travel  a  life-time  at  rapid  <rait. 

You'll  find  no  city  like  <  'hi-kay-.uo. 

There  is  no  place  where  councilmen  are  nested 

Securely  here  below. 
So  steeped  in  sin.  so  fraud-infested. 

No  matter  where  you  »o: 
And  should  Christ  come,  as  Stead  suu Bested. 

He'd  surelv  find  it  so. 


ODE  TO  AUTUMN. 

A: 

As  the  departing  summer's  glory  fades 
And  frosts  rest  on  the  withering  blades. 
And  much  of  the  year  is  beyond  recall. 
There's  a  lesson  of  life  in  the  leaves  that  fall. 
In  the  changing  scenes  that  meet  the  eye. 
In  the  foliage  hues  and  tints  of  the  sky. 
In  the  shaded  lane  or  tree-lined  street. 
In  the  manner  of  all  we  see  and  meet. 

Summer  has  gone  with  its  joys  untold 
And  its  living  green's  transformed  to  go.'.d. 
What  power  so  mystic,  so  wondrous  strange 
Has  wrought  such  beauty  amid  this  change 
That  pen  of  poet  nor  hand  of  art 
Can  ne'er  portray  the  beauteous  part. 
Nor  paint  a  scene  to  nature  true 
With  the  forest  tinted  a  golden  hue! 

The  autumn  days  that  now  are  come 

A  melancholy  time  by  some. 

All  sad  and  drear  are  said  to  be. 

And  oft  they  seem  that  way  to  me: 

Their  changing  moods  sometimes  appear 

The  saddest  of  the  passing  year. 

Yet  idolized  is  autumn's  day 

That  turns  the  green  to  gold  and  grav. 


SALUTES  OF  DAWN. 
X 

I  'rose  one  morning  at  the  break  of  dawn. 

Unlike  I'd  ever  done  for  lon^  before. 
(Because  1  always  sleep  till  night's  'way  jjone) 

And  saw  the  streaks  of  day  a-shooting  o'er 
The  world,  and  lighting  up  the  Eastern  sky. 

And  chasing  hack  the  sent'nels  of  the  niyfht. 
Like  sentinels  are  often  made  to  Hy 

When  cov'ring  some  retreating  army's  tli^ht. 

And  then  a  cloud  I  saw.  a-hanirin.ir  'round 

And  hov'rinjr  close  upon  the  hori/.on. 
Not  differing  much  in  shape  and  looks  from  ground. 

Nor  from  the  darkness  that  was  hurryinjj  on: 
'Twas  there  to  fortify  the  camp  of  ni«ht 

It  seemed,  tho'  only  for  a  brief,  short  spell. 
Just  long  enough  perhaps  to  set  things  ri.ijht 

(Jive  nijfht  a  little  time  to  say  farewell. 

Kffulfjent  rays  break  o'er  the  wakinjr  world: 

For  me  it  is  a  grand  inspiring  sij^ht 
To  see  those  clouds  of  darkness  backward  hurled. 

And  smiles  of  morn  displace  the  dreams  of  ni^ht. 
Oh  jjrand  the  golden  scenes  of  sunset  sky. 

But  more  adored  by  me  are  those  at  dawn 
When  nifjht,  awakening,  hastens  its  good-by. 

Amid  salutes  and  echoes  of  the  morn. 


BELLS. 


The  bells!  sweet  bells  that  chime 
At  happy  Christmas  time! 
That  ring  on  every  side 
At  joyous  Easter-tide. 


The  poet  tells 
Of  ringing  bells. 
Of  funeral  knells: 
Of  ancient  chime, 
Attuned  to  time 
Of  measured  rhyme. 

The  bell!  the  bell! 

High  sounding  bell 

Whose  echoes  swell! 
Oh  bells  so  gladly  ringing! 

And  bells!  bells!  bells! 

Those  mournful  bells! 

Those  funeral  knells! 
Oh  bells  so  sadly  swinging! 


The  falcon's  bell  heralds  its  flight 
And  curfews  tell  of  passing  night; 
And  midnight's  chime  afar  and  near 
Doth  mark  the  time  of  passing  year: 
And  "passing-bells"'  rang  out  of  old 
To  sound  sad  knells — of  death  they  told. 


Bells!  bells!  bells!  bells! 

The  bells!  the  bells! 

Of  all  the  bells 

Which  history  tells, 
There's  one  that  rang  at  Liberty's  birth, 

And  monarchs  reeled 

When  its  echoes  pealed! 

And  dooms  were  sealed! 
Most  priceless  bell  of  all  the  earth! 


The  bells!  the  bells! 

Those  jingling  bells 

Whose  story  tells 
Of  whitened  fields  on  every  side — 

Of  wintry  climes, 

Of  Christmas  chimes 

And  happy  times, 
As  o'er  the  snow  we  gaily  glide. 

There  is  one  bell 
In  annals  of  ages 
Of  which  we  sing, 
Which  poets  tell 
On  history's  pages, 
That  did  not  ring — 
A  curfew  bell  in  Cromwell's  time, 

Suspended  high  in  an  ancient  tower, 
Each  day  wont  to  toll  the  curfew  chime 
And  of t  to  note  the  end,  the  fatal  hour 
When  life  should  take  its  final  leave. 
Within  dark  prison  walls  there  lived  that  day 

One  o'erwhelmed  by  death's  dark  token. 
And  Cromwell's  coming  far  away 

Was  all  too  late — sad  hearts  were  broken 
At  thoughts  of  curfew  to  ring  that  eve. 


"Curfew  must  not  ring  to-night!'' 

( 'ried  out  a  maiden  bold  and  brave- 
Heroine  of  that  belfry's  dizzy  height — 

A  fate  to  rescue,  a  life  to  save! 

And  heeding  not  what  dangers  bring. 
Muffled  that  bell's  loud-speaking  tongue, 

(Unknown  to  the  deaf  old  sexton  fc;r  below) 
And  in  that  hour  of  frightful  peril  clung 

To  that  bell  wildly  swinging  to  and  fro — 
Her  lover  lived,  for  curfew  did  not  ring! 


The  bells!  the  bells! 

The  wedding-  bells! 
Which  ring  the  joy  of  man  and  bride. 

The  bells!  the  bells! 

The  bright  blue-bells! 
That  fadeless  flower,  fair  Scotland's  pride 

The  school  bell  tolling, 

The  school  boy  calling, 
Prom  paths  of  play  he  is  prone  to  trod, 

And  those  church  bells, 

The  deep-toned  bells, 
Calling  the  sinner  to  the  house  of  God. 

The  bells!  the  bells! 
Jingling, 
Tinkling, 
Merry  bells! 
Swinging, 
Singing, 
Ringing, 

Song-like  echoes  of  some  glad  story 
From  birth-time  hours  to  days  of  glory 


Those  auction  bells, 

And  bovine  bells 
In  all  their  harshness  clanging: 

Thoso  breakfast  bells, 

And  dinner  bells, 
And  bells  in  belfries  hanging; 

Yes,  all  the  bells 

Which  history  tells 
And  poets  have  been  singing, 

Bring  out  those  bells, 

A  thousand  bells, 
And  set  them  all  to  ringing! 


LIFE  0'  JIM  JONES. 
X 

Jim  .Jones  lived  jes'  sawin'  wood. 
An'  .Jim  wux.  jolly  an'  yot  'lonjj  good. 
You  never  seed  Jim  loatin'  er  layin' 
Houn'  s'loons.  an'  ferglttin  the  payin' 
Uv  his  onnus  duze.  an'  like  I  know  sum 
Allus  a-waitin  fer  sumthin'  to  rum 
His  way  ee/y  -Jim  worked  hard. 
I've  seed  him  in  meny  er  yard 
Lony  'fore  roosters  erode  fer  day 
Nee  deep  in  wood  an'  sawin'  away 
Thet's  how  Jim  lived,  an'  Jim  lived 
An'  <jot  all  he  had  jes'  sawin'  wood. 

Jim  jined  the  Woodmin  an'  yess  'twux.  thar 
He  lurnd  his  sawin'   -I  don't  know  whar 
Er  why.  er  when  it  could  hev  bin 
Er  how  he  happund  to  bey  in 
Ef  it  wuzn't  then,  but  anyhow 
Jim  {jot  to  sawin'.  and  I  jes  'low 
It  wuz  a  lucky  thing"  fer  Jim. 
An'  thar's  lots  more  jes'  like  him 
A-wandurn'  through  the  world  today 
Orter  be  nishiated  jes'  the  same  way: 
It  shakes  'em  up  an'  does  'em  fjood 
To  yit  'em  a-started  sawin'  wood. 


I've  often  thot  a  feller  like  Jim 
Set  a  good  patturn.  an'  follurn'  him 
In  his  ever-day  work  a-sawin  wood 
Ud  do  a  lot  of  fellers  a  hepe  o'  good. 
Let  'em  rise  airly  like  Jim  ust  to 
An'  work  till  noon  an'  afternoon  too. 
On  till  nite  till  the  cows  cum  home. 
An'  the  ole  turky  gobler  seeced  to  rome 
An'  went  to  roost  on  a  high-up  lim' 
With  the  turky  hen  settin'  side  o'  him. 
Thayde  live  longer  an'  do  more  good 
Ef  thay  dun  like  Jim  an'  jes'  sawed  wood. 

Jim  lived  long  an'  grode  old 

A-tryin  to  do  what  duty  told. 

An'  whenever  his  advice  wuz  sought 

Jim  allus  sed  jes'  what  he  thot 

To  young  er  old.  an'  told  'em  to  be  good 

An'  reckermendid  sawin'  wood. 

Jim  wuzn't  rich,  er  prowd.  but  sumhow 

A  thousan'  luv'd  him  an'  think  o'  him  now. 

When  Jim  went  totterin'  down  the  years 

To  his  finul  end,  a  milyun  tears 

Wuz  shed—  an'  Jim  gained  that  reward 

Jes'  sawin'  wood,  an'  trustin'  in  the  Lord. 


LEAP  YEAR  VALENTINES. 


Soon  the  postman's  arms  will  In- 
Filled  with  love's  sweet  minstrelsy 

While  each  waiting  maid  will  pine 
For  her  leap-year  valentine. 

Detroit  Free  Pre> 


A    DAY   OK   TWO   LATEK. 
And  in  some  postman's  arms,  perhap. 

The  following  Sunday  nijjht. 
Or  on  some  postman's  lap, 

(With  lamps  not  very  bright) 
Full  many  an  arm-full  sweet 

Sub-missive  there  reclines. 
Enveloped  quite  complete. 

That  leap-}'ear  valentine. 


A  COLLOQUY. 
A; 

SON — "Mother,  pray  tell  who  was  the  man 
Who  first  ordained  the  worldly  plan 

To  subdivide  the  year. 

So  me  and  all  my  chums 
Just  have  to  wait  and  watch  and  yawn 
Till  all  those  tiresome  months  that  on 

The  calendar  appear 
Are  nearly  jrone 

Before  our  Christmas  comes." 

MOTHER— "My  son,"  the  mother  said,  "  'tis  nature's  plan 
Perhaps,  ordained  by  God  and  not  by  man." 

SON — "Could  not  the  days  and  weeks  that  Hy 
Count  all  the  time  for  you  and  I 
From  year  to  year 
Without  twelve  months  to  interfere?" 

Within  this  mother's  mind  there  lurked  a  mortal  fear 
That  argument  once  begfun  would  last  beyond  the  year. 
For  boys  are  boys — all  this  she  knew  before 
And  therefore  wiselv  thought  it  best  to  sav  no  more. 


A  RINGER. 

A; 

Rinjj"  out  the  old.  riny  in  the  new: 
Kin«,r  out  the  false,  rinir  in  the  true: 
Kinjr  out  the  dark,  rin«,r  in  the  li«fht: 
llin<r  out  the  dull,  riny  in  the  bright: 
Kin»-  out  the  slush,  rin"'  in  the  snow: 
Rin<r  in  the  swift.  rin«r  out  the  slow: 
Ilinjr  in  the  »'ood.  rinjr  out  the  had: 
Kin»'  in  the  joyful.  rin»-  out  the  sad: 
IlinjLT  out  the  ni^ht.  rin»-  in  the  dawn: 
And  rin«r!  and  rin<^!  rin«f  on!  rin<^  on! 
Yes  rin«,r!  and  rin»"!  for  merry's  sake! 
How  much  rin»'in»'  does  it  take? 
I  think  you've  run«,r  enough  this  ])0]>. 
So  jilease  rinj,r  off!  riny  off!  and  stop! 


TWO  DAYS. 

X 

Yesterday — a  lovely  day  it  was. 
Pleasant  because 

The  world  so  seems 
When  the  sun  shines  down 
On  a  fettered,  frozen  town. 
Softening'  the  snow 
And  starting  the  flow 

Of  tiny  streams. 

Yesterday — a  pretty  thing — 
Harbinger  of  coming'  spring- 
Signal  of  winter  disappearing". 
Brightening  the  face  of  those 
Awakening  from  long"  repose. 
Inviting-  to  birds  with  song's  benign. 
A  safe,  unfailing  and  certain  sign 
That  spring  ajrain  is  nearing. 

Today — companion  true 

Of  yesterday 

And  yesternight: 
Skies  all  blue 

And  fair  and  bright 

The  spring-time  way. 


THE  STAR  OF  EMPIRE. 
X 

"Westward  the  Star 

Of  Empire  takes  its  way 
And  in  that  West-land 

Its  wonders  will  display: 
There  potent  power 

Will  hold  a  sway. 
And  every  hour 

Of  every  day. 

Star  of  Empire,  ascending  hig 
Apace  with  bright 

Progression's  stride, 
The  world  will  liyht 

And  lead  and  «niid<>. 


(is 


A  MESSAGE  OF  HOPE, 


As  prison  gates  swing'in  for  thee, 
And  there  deprived  of  freedom  of  the  free, 
A  prison  life  it  falls  thy  lot  to  bear, 
Thy  countrymen  bid  thee  not  despair. 

Though  prison  walls  upon  thee  frown 
And  prison  garb  bedecks  thy  form, 
Outside  those  walls  worse  men  than  thee 
Have  gone  unpunished  by  powers  that  be. 

Though  anxious  hours  disturb  thy  rest. 
No  felon's  heart  beats  in  thy  breast, 
Nor  scornful  hate  of  powers  that  be 
Can  rob  thy  right  to  liberty. 

Then  bravely  bear  that  false  decree, 
Those  shackles  soon  will  fall  —  and  free 
Thy  salient  powers  of  speech  and  pen 
Will  plead  humanity's  cause  again. 


LIFE'S  HALF-WAY. 
A; 

At  thirty-five  I  calmly  pause  today. 
To  view  the  place  of  life  they  call  "half-way." 
And  cast  a  retrospect  o'er  by-<rone  years. 
Triumphs  recount-  perhaps  recall  the  tears. 

I  view  the  lon<r  decline  up  which  I've  come 

Its  ru<rjjed  steeps,  its  rocks,  its  cra»s.  and  some 

Of  the  weird  ways  through  which  I  passed  with  fear? 

Wond'rinjr  if  time  has  numbered  half  my  years. 

Is  this  meridian  of  man  and  life? 

Doth  it  divide  the  share  of  joy  and  strife 

Apportioned  to  allotted  years  of  men 

Who  live  to  ripened  a.ije-  -three  score  and  ten? 

The  past  is  memory     'tis  known  to  me. 
But  what  the  future  holds     what  is  to  be. 
Lies  wrapt  secure  in  shadows  dark  and  deep. 
And  until  reached  that  secret  time  will  keep. 

Oh  bygone  years!  the  covering  of  thy  ways 
Has  been  uprolled  to  music  of  thy  days. 
But  future  time,  if  full  of  shining  ""low 
Cnknown     its  curtain  still  is  haninnir  low. 


7 


Nor  can  \ve  tell  if  we  have  reached  the  place 
Which  measures  half  of  life's  uneven  race: 
This  numbering  of  the  years  is  all  divine — 
Perhaps  more  steeps  before  there  comes  decline. 

Perhaps  a  plain,  a  "Teat,  broad  table  land. 
On  which  repose  full  many  glories  «rand. 
Awaits  the  actor  in  the  play  and  plan 
Of  years  allotted  to  the  life  of  man. 

And  should  our  pause  be  on  the  slope. 
Or  at  the  summit  of  the  mount  of  hope. 
Where  man  must  say  adieu  to  scenes  behind— 
Begins  the  downward  course  of  all  his  kind. 

The  brilliant  rays  of  life's  ascending  sun. 
That  shone  for  me  unto  that  summit  won. 
As  down  the  lon«'  descent  of  life  we  glide. 
Will  shine  as  brightly  on  the  other  side. 

Then  what  to  YOU  or  1  if  swift  or  slow 
Is  the  descent  of  life  to  vales  below. 
If  passing  scenes  sublime  and  peaceful  be. 
And  bright  the  sinking  sun  at  eve  we  see! 

-February  •_'•_'.  18!>(> 


EAT  'EM  AS  YOU  PICK  'EM. 


You  may  talk  of  luxuries,  luscious  and  sweet. 

Of  the  fruits  and  berries  that  all  love  to  eat. 

And  manj-  fancy  ways  of  fixing  them  up 

In  pies  and  preserves,  in  dish  or  in  cup. 

But  as  nature  supplies  them,  oh  give  them  to  me. 

Fresh  from  the  vine,  or  fresh  from  the  tree. 

What  suits  the  birds  is  good  enough  for  me. 

The  berry  from  the  vine  or  the  fruit  from  the  tree. 

The  work  of  no  cook  in  the  can  on  the  shelf 

('an  compare  with  the  way  I  "can"  it  myself. 

I'd  sooner  any  time  to  get  out  and  go 

Where  the  juicy  grape  is  hanging  below 

The  vine  as  nature  designed  it.  ripe  and  sweet 

Tempting  for  all  to  pluck  and  to  eat. 

Than  to  have  access  to  the  sugared  things 

And  the  fancy  luxuries  of  queens  and  kings. 

You  may  have  all  the  sweets  that  rest  on  the  shelf 

If  you'll  just  let  me  do  my  "canning"  myself. 

Of  the  apple,  the  plum,  the  cherry  that's  fine. 

Or  the  grape  and  the  berry  fresh  from  the  vine. 

What  suits  the  birds  is  good  enough  for  me. 

Fresh  from  the  vine  or  fresh  from  the  tree. 


"BOY  WANTED !" 
X 

[The  disappointing  advent  of  the  third  girl  in  the  Presi 
dential  household  July  7.  1895.] 

A  sign  hung  on  the  door  at  Buzzard's  Bay, 
And  a  flag  from  tho.se  "Gables"  was  flung, 

And  these  were  the  words  it  was  made  to  say — 
And  this  was  the  song  that  most  had  been  sung: 
"Boy  wanted!" 

Yes,  the  flags  were  flaunted 
And  the  "Gables"  were  haunted 
By  the  song  he  chanted: 
"Boy  wanted!'' 

When  that  little  tot  came  to  Buzzard's  Bay. 

Announcing  itself  as  "coming  to  stay," 
To  adorn  and  brighten  those  Gables  Gray. 

That  sign  from  the  door  was  taken  away: 
•'Boy  wanted!'' 

And  now  he  is  taunted 
For  the  song  he  chanted 
With  courage  undaunted: 
"Bov  wanted!" 


THAT  BABY  BOY  OF  MINE. 
X 

1  cast  013'  books  and  manuscripts  aside  one  day 
To  listen  to  a  prattling  tongue  of  childhood  gay. 
To  watch  a  pair  of  flying  feet  that  sped  their  way. 
And  bus}'  hands  that  strew  disorder  in  their  play. 
While  guided  by  no  thought  but  childish  joy. 

I  caught  that  lovely  form  and  pressed  it  close  to  me: 
"WHOSE  DARLING  ONE  ARE  YOU?"  I  asked  him  to  repeat: 
With  accents  full  of  childhood's  ways,  in  childish  glee 
There  came  from  lips  all  wreathed  in  smiles  so  sweet: 
"TsE  MAMMA'S  BABY.  PAPA'S  'ITTL.E  BOY." 


Of  bright  and  happy  kind 
With  face  so  fair,  and  sparkling  eye 
A  wealth  of  worlds  would  fail  to  buy. 

That  baby  boy  of  mine. 


74 


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75 


A  POINTER  TO  POETS. 
X 

Here  in  our  town  two  Majors  live. 

Of  wealth  in  mind  and  purse. 
And  these  two  Majors  often  give 

Some  thought  to  riming  verse. 

The  one  composed  a  poem  fair. 

Twas  several  stanzas  long. 
'Twas  written  with  the  greatest  care. 

And  read  by  mighty  throng. 

The  editor  who  gave  it  space. 

In  mem'ry  of  the  author's  good  intents. 
When  his  pay-day  came  on  apace. 

Sent  forth  his  check  for  "forty  cents." 

The  other  Major  at  another  time. 

Regarding  "brevity"  as  the  "soul  of  wit." 
Condensed  the  language  of  his  rime 

And  that  same  editor  published  it. 

The  man  who  gave  these  poems  space. 

Admired  the  short  one.  and  in  rewarding  it 
Favored  its  author  with  kinder  grace. 

And  sent  $:J.OO  for  his  "remit." 

The  moral  of  this  tale  is  plain 

You  shouldn't  be  long  in  discerning  it 

When  penning  poems  relieve  the  pain. 
By  using  "brevity"  for  your  wit. 

Who  knows  but  what  the  man  who  paid 
For  these  two  poems  which  he  bought. 

His  recompense  would  greater  made 
Had  neither  poet  written  ought. 


THE  CRIME  OF  SNOW  BALLIN'. 

Suggested  by  the  expulsion  of  seven  school  boys  charged  with  thrnwing  snow  halls. 

Thing's  am  gittin'  so  these  new  fangled  days 

You  can't  hardly  live  'less  you  mend  your  old  ways. 

We  ust  to  never  go  to  deestrick  schools 

'Less  we  snow-balled—now  you  break  rules 

Ef  you  do  sich  things  ag'in  the  teacher's  say, 

An'  git  sent  home— sent  there  to  staj-. 


When  us  old  boys  went  to 

school  long  ago, 
Many  years  back  in  the  days 

I  ust  to  know, 
The  teacher'd  often  jine  our 

snow  ball  throw, 
An'  that  teacher's  face  we'd 

wash  in  the  snow. 
But  he  didn't  turn  us  out  for 

nuthin'  like  that 
Ef  we  all  studied  good  an' 

got  our  lessons  pat. 


Wonder  what  the  Lord  specks  to  do  with  the  enow 
Ef  it  aint  made  for  boys  to  wad  up  an'  throw. 
We  ust  to  all  use  it  for  sleigh  in'  an'  throwin', 
Now  the  wind  jes'  hez  it  to  use  when  a  blowin'; 
It's  that  way  now — the  world  an'  its  ways 
Hev  changed  a  mighty  heap  since  our  school  days. 


I  can  well  remember  when  a 

whole  pack 
Of  us  school  boys  would  all 

take  a  whack 
At  a  feller  passin' — the  balls 

'u'd  jes'  fly, 
An'  a  dozen  mebbe  hit  him 

'fore  he  got  by; 
But  we  wusn't  sent  home  for 

things  like  that 
Ef  we  all  studied  good  an'  got 

our  lessons  pat. 


We  ust  to  build  forts  anf  put  armies  in  'era 
An'  when  the  other  boys  would  run  up  ag'in  'em, 
We'd  take  some  icy  balls  (of  course  jes'  in  fun) 
An'  pelt  'em  hard  an' fast  till  ev'ry  feller'd  run; 
Hut  if  we  studied  good  and  got  our  lessons  pat 
They'd  never  spell  a  feller  for  things  like  that. 


We'd  make  our  bullets  out  o'  real  soft  ice 

(An*  leave  'em  out  nights  to  freeze  hard  an'  nice) 

With  hunks  o'  coal  in  'em  er  some  sich  stuff 

That'd  sometimes  hurt  ef  throw'd  hard  'nuff: 

But  they  never  turned  us  out  fer  nuthin"  like  that 

Ef  we  all  studied  good  an'  got  our  lessons  pat. 


78 


Oh,  what  queer  stages  our  larnin's  passin'  through, 

An'  what  a  purty  fix  we're  gittin'  into! 

What  in  the  world  will  the  boys  all  do 

Ef  they  can't  play  a  bit — when  they  spell  'em  ef  they  do? 

It's  that  way  now  for  the  world  an'  its  ways 

Hev  changed  a  mighty  heap  since  our  school  days. 


LOVELY  MAY. 
X 

I  met  a  friend  as  I  walked  the  street. 

One  dreary,  dismal  April  day. 

Who  lon<jinyly  wished  for  Lovely  May. 
I  said  to  that  one  I  chanced  to  meet. 

To  lighten  his  heart  and  brighten  his  way. 
"We're  traveling  on  toward  Lovely  May." 

What  if  the  clouds  are  bleak  and  dark 
And  chiU  the  winds  that  bl  >w  today! 
We're  hastening  on  toward  Lovely  May. 

Tomorrow  may  hear  the  sonjf  of  the  'ark. 
Or  the  note  of  the  robin  and  the  jay: 
We're  hastening  on  toward  Lovely  May. 

Then  why  rejrret  these  April  showers 
Which -overspread  the  skies  today! 
We're  hastening  on  toward  Lovely  May 

Where  sonjf  of  birds  and  bloom  of  flowers 
Will  make  world  bright  and  jrlad  and  fray: 
We're  hastening  on  toward  Lovely  May. 


so 


SPARE  SPELLS. 
A; 

I've  written  rimes 

At  short,  spare  spells 
1  found  in  life  as  years  went  on: 

Ah!  no  one  tells 
.lust whence  they  came,  just  where  they've  gone- 

Those  idle  spells, 

Life's  odd.  spare  times. 

I've  written  lines 
As  Ililey  said  in  a  sweet  rime 

His  pen  inscribed  one  day 
"To  lure  the  length'ning  miles  into 
The  pleasant  Afterwhiles,"  and  through, 

To  joy's  confines — 
To  after  years  where  smiles  greet  time 

And  sorrows  fade  away. 

Since  I  begun. 
And  time  has  onward  passed. 

Some  I  have  penned 

To  foe  and  friend, 
And  some  to  loved  ones  in  my  home: 

To  them  these  rimes, 

Of  odd,  spare  times, 

Are  joyful  chimes 
And  songs  of  pleasure  as  they  come, 

That  still  will  sing 

And  chime  and  ring 
When  I  am  gone  at  last — 

When  life  is  done. 


81 


OH  VHERE  ISH  DOT  PUP? 
X 

1  To  commemorate  the  following  advertisement:  "l)o<i 
LOST—  A  small  white  pup.  with  black  ears,  and  some  white 
on  tail." | 

Oh  vhere,  oh  vhere  is  mein  vhite  pup  shmall. 

Vot  I  tried  to  vind  him  so  hard  und  vail. 
He  vas  all  over  vhite  mit  some  leedle  plack  ears 

Und  some  more  vhite  on  his  leedle  vhite  tail. 

Oh  vhere,  oh  vhere  is  mein  leedle  vhite  pup 
Vot  did  got  lost  und  didn't  back  come. 

He  vas  all  over  vhite  from  his  hat  clean  up. 
Mit  some  spot  on  his  ears  und  tail  vhite  some. 

Oh  vhere.  oh  vhere  do  dot  leedle  pup  sthay? 

Oh  vhere  dis  world  in  has  doggy  all  gone? 
Dot  leedle  vhite  pup  vot  has  vandered  avay. 

Und  some  more  vhite  mit  his  tail  vas  on. 

Oh  vhere,  oh  vhere  is  mein  vhite  dog  lost. 

Vot  in  der  paper  I  did  atvhertise. 
Und  paid  for  some  money  und  never  run  crost 

Mein  leedle  vhite  doggy  mit  vhite  in  his  eyes 
Und  lots  more  vhite  on  his  tail  for  its  si/.e. 


SONG  OF  THE  INSTITUTE. 


There  is  no  state  like  Illinois. 
There  is  no  place  like  Iroquois: 
Oh  land  of  corn,  and  flowers  and  fruit! 
Oh  home  of  the  farmers'  institute! 
I  labor  hard  throughout  the  year. 
And  when  I've  plucked  the  golden  ear. 
I  do  my  chores  and  then  I  scoot 
Ri<rht  into  town  to  the  institute. 

CHORUS. 

Oh  let  me  live  in  Illinois! 
Oh  let  me  stay  in  Iroquois! 
And  'tend  the  farmers'  institute 
The  institute!  tu-tute!  tu-tute! 

When  frost  is  on  the  pumpkin  and  corn. 
The  farmer's  out  at  early  morn. 
A-yath'rin^  in  the  golden  fruit 
That  takes  the  prize  at  the  institute. 
It  was  not  many  years  agx> 
When  thing's  moved  lon<r  most  awfvil  slow. 
But  now  they're  gx>in«-  lick-et-y  scoot — 
And  the  candidate's  at  the  institute. 

CHORUS. 

I  don't  like  none  of  your  western  «  aloots 
In  rattle-snake  hats  and  leather  suits 
Or  the  city  chaps  a  "shootin'  the  chutes"- 
I  'tend  my  farm  and  the  institutes. 
I  don't  like  none  of  your  whistles  shrill. 
Or  toots  that  blow  at  the  knittin'  mill. 
And  none  of  those  Watseka  shoots 
Who  jro  to  ( 'rescent  to  fjet  their  toots. 

CHORUS. 


THE  AUCTIONEER'S  LAMENT. 
X 

My  callin's  been  ailin?  an'  I'm  chuck  full  o'  fears 
That  this  "cryin' "  occupation  will  soon  turn  to  tears. 


THE  AUCTIONEER'S   LAMENT. 
X 

Sales  hev  bin  few  for  sev'ral  years. 
You  seldom  ever  hear  the  cry  uv  auctioneers: 
My  callin's  bin  ailin'- an'  I'm  chuck  full  uv  fears 
That  this  "cryin'  "'  occupation  will  soon  turn  to  tears. 
Yes.  bizness  hez  been  ailin' 

Since  these  hard  times  come  on. 
An'  my  occupation's  f ailin'. 
It's  goin'!  goin'!  gone! 

The  people  don't  'peer  stingy — but  many  aint  ez  free, 
An'  somehow  hopes  are  dingy — there's  no  joy  an'  glee 
Ez  I  look  through  my  tears  an*  fancy  I  can  see 
Rack  not  ma.ny  years  when  'twuz  different  fer  me. 
It's  no  longer  now  smooth  sailin' 

Since  these  hard  times  come  on, 
An'  my  occupation's  f  ailin', 
It's  goin'I  goin'!  gone! 

I've  often  wondered,  an'  figured  with  a  will 
Ef  some  one  blundered,  an'  managed  fer  to  kill 
The  bizness  tryin'  to  enlarge  it.  an'  figured  on  until 
I  jes'  conclude  to  charge  it  to  the  Dingley  bill, 
Fer  bizness  hez  bin  ailin' 

Since  these  hard  times  come  on. 
An'  my  occupation's  failin'. 
Goin'!  goin'!  gone! 

A  few  years  ago.  ever'  day  most. 
I  us't  be  called  to  sell  off  a  host 
Uv  furniture  an'  fixin's,  an'  wagons  an'  teams, 
An'  a  thousan'  things,  but  since  then  it  seems 
My  bizness  hez  bin  ailin' 

Since  these  hard  times  come  on. 
An'  my  occupation's  failin'. 
It's  goin'!  goin'!  gone! 


I  us't  to  sell  hoys,  an'  calves  and  cows. 
The  household  doys.  an'  the  stirrin'  plows. 
An'  all  the  traps  known  to  human  invention. 
An'  some  other  things  "too  num'r'us  to  mention. 
Since  then  bi/ness  hex  bin  ailin'. 
Fer  these  hard  times  come  on. 
An'  my  occupation's  failin' 
It's  {join'!  <join'!  "'one! 

With  sales  <jittin'  few  fer  sev'ral  years 
An'  nuthin'  to  do  fer  the  auctioneers. 
An'  nuthin'  to  sell,  none  able  to  buy. 
Taint  no  use  to  yell,  an'  no  use  to  "cry." 
Fer  bixriess  he/  bin  ailin' 

Since  these  hard  times  come  on. 
An'  my  occupation's  failin'. 
(Join'!  jjoin'!  <jone! 


When  Uncle  -Mm  Parker  moved  into  town 
He  quit  cryin'  sales  an*  settled  down: 
Fer  many  a  year  he  hexn't  bin  heard. 
Ex  an  auctioneer,  to  utter  a  word. 
I  wonder'f  he  on  genera1  suspicion 
Expected  the  chanjje  in  bixness  condition'/ 
Wonder'f  he  knew  there'd  be  hard  sailin' 
Fer  the  auctioneers  an'  bixness  be  failin' 
K/  soon  as  hard  times  {jot  to  comin'  on. 
An'  the  occupation'd  be  ni{jh  most  {jone. 
Then  quit  auctioneerin'  a  livin'  to  earn? 
(ireat  head  uv  hi/,  to  call  sich  a  turn! 


SI! 


Ef  times  keep  gettin'  worse  what'll  we  do 
Fer  a  livelihood;*    Jes'  "cry"'  says  you? 
If  you  ever  listened  to  John  Bailey's  tone 
A  hull  day  through,  er  heard  Harve  Stone. 
Er  ever  stood  under  the  fiery  yell 
Of  Dave  McFadden  er  Robert  Mell. 
Er  an  auctioneer  that's  Dunn  by  name. 
Er  ''Col.'"  Sam  Stone  uv  Danforth  fame. 
You'd  lend  an  ear  to  my  mournful  tale 
An'  not  appear  to  greet  an'  hail 
The  present  year,  with  hard  times  on. 
An'  the  auctioneer's  best  days  all  gone. 

This  is  one  uv  our  "way -off"  years. 
And  toler'ble  tough  on  the  auctioneers, 
An'  rough  on  the  chaps  who  print  bills  too. 
But  I  guess,  perhaps,  we'll  both  pull  through. 

Ez  the  farmer  to  his  farm  is  hangin'  on 
An'  my  occupation's  goin'!  goin'!  gone! 
F'z  this  is  one  uv  our  '"way-off"  years. 
Let's  auction  off  the  auctioneers. 


And  while  amazed  at  this  suggestion  bold. 
The  hammer  fell — "Once!  Twice!  and  Sold!" 


CALENDAR,  1898. 


ii 


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FIGURES  OF  THE  NEW  YEAR. 

The  old.  departing,  unto  new  gives  place. 
And  tho'  no  animation  on  the  face 
Of  characters  so  silent  and  so  dumb. 
They  tell  the  story  of  a  year  to  come: 
For  all  the  types  assembled  in  this  plate. 
Are  sentinels  of  time,  and  hope,  and  fate. 


THE  "OLD  ORIENTAL" 
X 

You  may  talk  all  you  please 
Of  the  Woodmen  degrees, 
Of  the  wood  and  its  sawin', 
And  the  buckin'  and  pawin' 
Of  the  old  stubborn  goat. 
And  his  buttin'  by  note; 
Of  his  startin'  and  goin', 
Of  his  stoppin'  and  throwin', 
And  tell  of  the  fate 
Of  the  poor  candidate 
In  tones  sentimental, 
But  the  most  detrimental, 
Ts  the  fun  incidental 
To  the  "Old  Oriental." 


89 


AN  ECLIPSE  ECLIPSED. 
X 

There  was  an  eclipse  the  other  night 
And  thousands  awaited  with  anxious  delight 
To  see  old  Luna's  face  all  hid  from  view 
While  passing  earth's  dark  shadow  through: 

It  was  to  be  total— a  great,  grand  sight. 
And  many  prepared  to  stay  out  all  night: 
But  'twixt  cup  and  lip  there  are  many  slips-- 
The  storm  cloud  eclipsed  that  great  eclipse. 


THEY  SAW  IT. 
X 

"Where  were  you  last  evening  dear?"  her  mother  said. 
"I  looked  in  vain  for  you  my  dear  before  I  went  to  bed 
And  thought  to  press  a  good-night  kiss  upon  those  ruby  lips. 
1  quite  forgot  there  was  to  be  a  moon's  eclipse." 

"Yes.  mother  dear,  that  same  event  escaped  my  mind 
Till  ( 'harlej'  came  and  asked  were  I  inclined 
To  go  with  him  to  view  the  moon's,  great,  grand  eclipse: 
It  was  delightful  mother     I  took  along  my  lips." 


A  SON  OF  THE  SHADE. 
X 

He  lies  in  a  hammock  enjoying  the  breeze 
With  all  the  comfort  and  all  the  ease 
Of  a  don't-care-for-nothing  and  go-as-you-please 
Sort  of  a  way — in  the  shade  of  the  trees. 

Just  seeing  what  he  can  see. 

Unmindful  of  hours  that  flee. 

The  birds  are  nesting  in  the  trees. 

He  hears  the  hum  of  the  busy  bees. 

And  out  in  the  garden,  with  rolled  up  sleeves 

And  hoe  in  hand,  his  dad  he  sees. 

His  dad  was  born  to  work  with  a  vim — 

He'd  sooner  'twas  dad  than  him. 

Things  he  likes  most  are  shady  trees, 
And  a  hammock  swinging  in  the  breeze. 
Lazily  loafing  there  at  ease 
With  nothing  to  do  but  do  as  you  please. 

"No  sun  a  shinin'  hot  and  high 

On  me."  says  he.  "I'd  sooner  'twas  dad  than  I. 


A  GUESS. 

MYSTERY   OF   THE  CHICAGO   RECORD'S    PRIZE   STORY. 
"SOVS    AMD   FATHERS." 

X 

"As  sometimes  in  a  dead  man's  face. 

To  those  that  watch  it  more  and  more. 

A  likeness  hardly  seen  before 
Comes  out-  to  some  one  of  his  race." 

—  Tmnymtn's  "In   Mrini>ri>i»i  " 

I  pursued  the  story  of  ''Sons  and  Fathers." 

And  on  the  ''mystery"  laid  mighty  stress. 
But  there's  one  little  thing  that  bothers: 
''Only  women  and  girls  may  guess." 

'Tis  a  lesson  of  life,  of  hope,  and  love. 

Of  envy  and  hate  and  cumbrous  care. 
Hut  jewelled  with  light  from  the  heavens  above. 

And  couched  in  language  chaste  and  rare. 

Out  of  the  tangle  of  plot  and  plan 
Comes  a  solution  I  believe  that  wins 

I  figured  it  out  as  the  story  ran 
That  Edward  and  Gerald  are  certainly  twins. 

There  at  the  church  as  the  storm  beat  wild. 

Where  women  sought  shelter  that  terrible  night. 
One  bearing  a  ''coffin"  'tis  said,  for  a  child. 

And  a  great  white  bird  there  fluttered  in  fright. 


Was  a  man  we  divine  as  Gaspard  Levigne: 
And  Marion's  pale  face  in  the  lightning's  glare: 

And  the  "coffin"  she  carried  but  a  violin: 
And  Rita  who  rescued  that  creature  so  fair. 

"Cambia."  for  beauty  and  talent  in  two  worlds  known. 

Who  smothered  her  sorrow  in  the  music  of  years. 
Who  searched  long  and  vain  for  records  flown. 
And  honored  a  grave  with  flowers,  and  her  tears. 

Is  happy  again — her  angel  face  once  more 
Is  shorn  of  sadness  and  a  sweet-toned  voice 

Is  singing  the  songs  of  the  years  of  yore. 
And  a  son,  and  mother,  and  father  rejoice. 

For  Edward  and  Mary  the  clouds  have  rolled  by: 
His  past  is  revealed  and  their  visions  behold 

A  future  of  promise — on  the  storm-rent  sky 
Is  a  rainbow  rich  in  the  tints  of  gold. 

There  is  one  thread  of  this  mystery  tale 

That  is  hopelessly  lost,  and  amid  my  despair 

I  guess  that  all  guesses  summarily  fail 
To  tell  what  become  of  rfweet  Kitty  Blair. 

Oh,  should  the  readers  of  stories  like  this. 

With  all  its  plot  and  plan  and  thought, 
A  million  of  miles  the  mystery  miss. 

The  world  is  better  for  the  good  it  taught. 


LINES  TO  A  LEGAL  LIGHT. 
X 

[On  the  occasion  of  the  marriage  of  Mr.  Frank  J>. 
Hooper.   September  29th.  1891.  | 

Your  "case''  is  "one''  it  now  appears, 
Not  by  demand  for  excessive  "fees," 
But  by  seven,  long,  consecutive  years 
Of  ardent,  strong,  persuasive  "pleas." 

No  "writ  of  replevin"  was  ever  issued. 
No  "change  of  venue"  ever  taken  — 
Faith  in  the  "justice'"  of  your  "court'1 
Throughout  the  "suit"  remained  unshaken. 

Let  us  "brief-ly"  ask  in  an  "abstract"  way 
That  no  "appeal"  of  the  "case"  be  made; 
Frank-ly  submit  (with  modest  Grace) 
To  the  happy  "verdict"  so  long  delayed. 

If  in  after  years,  in  your  home  "pur-suits." 
Troubles  and  "trials"  should  ever  arise, 
Endeavor  to  "quash"  all  such  disputes, 
Or  settle  the  same  by  "compromise." 

That  good  wife  of  yours — "seek  to  retain-'er'1 
As  long  as  you  "argue"  with  "legal''  breath. 
And  bestow  the  love  you  bestowed  to  gain  her: 
Let  the  only  "divorce"  be  the  one  by  death. 


94 


TWO  CITIES. 
X 

I  Frankfort.  Indiana.  1885.  | 

Today  I  rest  on  a  shady  slope. 
Enjoying  life  and  health  and  hope: 
The  trees  are  swaying-  to  and  fro. 
The  grass  and  flowers  are  bending  low: 
Visitors  enter  with  silent  tread 
To  view  this  city  of  the  dead. 

Around  this  sacred  spot  enclosed 
Another  city  lies,  and  much  disposed 
To  wealth,  activity  and  life, 
Engaged  in  busy,  worldly  strife. 
Filled  with  toil  and  noise  and  din. 
Contrasting  widely  from  this  I  am  in. 

Many  a  one  from  a  pleasant  home 
Views  that  city's  stately  dome, 
And  many  attentive  listening  ears 
Will  hear  the  sound,  in  future  years, 
Of  its  huge  clock,  like  a  deep-toned  bell, 
Bidding  the  hours  and  days  farewell. 

And  many  a  tear  which  flows  from  thought 
Of  grief  and  sorrow  there,  is  brought 
From  the  living  city  year  after  year 
To  moisten  the  flowers  that  are  planted  here. 
These  cities  are  linked  by  time  that's  fled — 
One  for  the  livinir  and  one  for  the  dead. 


95 


EFFORT. 


If  there  looms  up  a  task  before  you 

Like  mountains  hijjh, 
So  tall  it  seems  that  it  extends 

From  earth  to  sky, 
And  you'd  remove  it.  we  implore  you 

Not  stand  and  sijjh. 
Nor  wait  until  your  worldly  ends 

Have  ^one  awry, 
Then  call  for  aid — all  will  ignore  you 

And  naught  reply. 
For  much  of  life's  success  depends 

On  how  we  trv. 


UNEARNED. 
A; 

Some  men  who  fish  and  catcheth  naught. 
Make  much  display  of  fish  they've  caught: 
And  all  the  honors  some  have  got. 
Are  those  they've  stolen  or  they've  bought. 


97 


LAFAYETTE. 
A; 

A  proud  city  stands 

On  the  banks  of  a  stream, 
Whose  waters  and  sands 

In  the  sunlight  gleam, 
And  my  memory  fills 

With  thoughts  that  are  fair, 
Of  the  homes  on  the  hills 

And  the  highlands  there. 

O'er  that  broad  stream 

Three  structures  span, 
Where  train  and  team 

And  child  and  man, 
In  ceaseless  throng, 

Pass  early  and  late 
With  commerce  strong 

For  the  "Star"  of  state. 

To  the  northward  lies 

A  field  of  fame, 
Where  standards  rise. 

Where  a  chieftain  came 
With  a  warrior  band 

At  night-time  hour, 
And  avenging  hand 

For  vanishing  power. 

My  thoughts  are  turning 

To  by-gone  times, 
To  a  seat  of  learning — 

I  hear  its  chimes 
Just  across  that  river 

Where  nobly  stands 
That  gift  of  a  giver 

With  generous  plans. 


99 


The  home  of  my  childhood 

Lies  just  bayond 
Where  field  and  wildwood 

All  blend  in  one: 
Where  sweet-scented  blade.-, 

Of  meadows  are  found. 
And  the  sylvan  shades 

Of   forests  abound. 


Far  into  the  woods 

I  was  wont  to  roam 
'Monjr  nature's  moods. 

In  nature's  home. 
And  my  soul  oft  stirred 

By  the  tinkling  bells 
Of  the  wandering  herd 

Through  vales  and  dells 


And  the  bird's  sweet  son<; 

At  dawn  of  day. 
As  I  passed  along" 

Some  woodland  way. 
Where  nature  rejoices 

With  heart  light  and  free. 
Would  waken  the  voices 

Of  nature  in  me. 

As  the  sun  sank  low 

At  the  close  of  day, 
'Mid  the  evening's  glow 

I'd  wend  my  way 
Where  no  sound  floats 

On  the  air  above 
Save  the  mournful  notes 

Of  a  cooing  dove, 

Or  the  lonesome  song 

Of  the  whip-poor-will 
As  it  floats  along 

The  lowland  and  hill, 
And  the  clock  of  the  town 

Prom  its  massive  tower 
With  deep-toned  sound 

Would  note  the  hour. 

Oh  city  of  fame, 

Thou  art  dear  to  me, 
Revered  thy  name, 

And  scenes  environ  thee. 
Of  field  and  grove 

And  forest  and  plain, 
And  I  long  to  rove 

Their  paths  again. 


101 


TALE  OF  A  BRASS  KETTLE. 
X 


O,  while  you're  talkin'  of  boyhood  ways, 
Of  capers  an'  pranks  of  youth's  delight. 

An'  tellin'  your  tales  of  long-ago  days. 

When  pants  was  short  an'  hair  was  white. 


Just  listen  to  me,  it's  a  way- 
back  date 
Concernin'  which  I'm  goin' 

to  tell, 
Twas  out'n  White  County  in 

the  Hoosier  State 
An'  'bout  a  brass  ke  ttle 
that  sank  in  a  well. 


It  must  o'  been  back  in  the  60's  somewhere 
When  we  lived  far  out  on  a  prairie  farm 

With  a  hut  for  a  home,  and  neighbors  rare, 
An'  the  coyotes  soundin'  their  wild  alarn.. 

With  a  mighty  slim  start  an'  the  country  all  new 
Many  years  yonder  in  days  of  yore, 

Father  an'  mother  had  all  they  could  do 

To  keep  the  gaunt  wolf  away  from  the  door. 

'Twas  on  a  warm  day  'long  late'n  the  spring. 
An'  father  was  plowin'  in  the  field  alone. 

Can't  just  remember  the  date  o'  the  thing 

On  account  o'  the  years  that's  passed  an'  gone. 

The  day  was  bright  an'  the  sun  shone  fair. 
And  father  was  plowin'  like  "sixty-three," 

An'  mother'd  gone  an'  left  me  to  care 
For  two  little  tots  both  younrer'n  me. 


102 


We  played  all  'round  an  old  corn  pen, 

On  the  shady  side  most,  for  the  sun  was  hot, 

An'  under  some  rails  that  stood  on  end 
Down  close  by  the  old  stable  lot. 

The  day  I  remember  and  where  we  were  at, 
We  three — a  baby  sister  an'  brother,  an'  he 

Not  much  older'n  her,  an'  blind  at  that — 

They  made  just  two — an'  the  other'n  was  me. 


Poverty  perched  on  the  rails  o'erhead. 

An'  luxuries  scarce  'round  that  old  corn  bin — 
'Twas  just  take  some  water  an'  a  crust  o'  bread 

An'  then  go  to  rompin'  and  play  in'  ag'in. 

An'  I  done  my  best  most  all  the  while, 

Though  the  sun  was  hot  and  the  shade  was  slack 
'Round  that  corn  pen  an'  that  old  rail  pile, 

To  keep  'em  satisfied  till  mother  got  back. 

Of  the  bread  an'  water  that  was  our  lot, 
Whichever  they  wanted  I  tried  to  get 

Whether  they  needed  it  much  or  not, 

An'  the  little  brass  kettle  is  a  memory  yet. 


103 


I  took  that  treasure  of  many  a  year, 
Of  which  my  mother  had  often  told, 

An'  hied  awajr  to  a  well  that  was  near, 
With  boyhood  daring  brave  and  bold. 


I  lifted  the  cover  rude  and 

plain 
That  shut  out  the  heat  o'  the 

sun's  bright  glow, 
As  I'd  seen  done,  yes  time  and 

again, 

An'  swung  it  down  to  the 
water  below. 


I  pressed  on  the  pole — a  forked  limb 

Which  had  been  fixed  in  place  of  a  string, 

And  the  water  rushed  over  its  polished  brim, 
Until  it  filled  an'  sank  the  thing. 

But  when  I  'rose  to  lift  my  prize 

An'  bear  it  upward  with  a  forked  limb. 

Just  then  it  was  that  a  boy  my  size, 

Found  that  a  kettle  had  deserted  him. 

Lost!  sunk  to  rise  no  more!     I  reeled 
In  fright,  and  uttered  one  loud  yell 

To  break  the  news  to  father  in  the  field! 

"The  little!  brass  kettle!!  is  in  the  well! !  I" 

An'  brother  Reed  an'  sister  "Lib" 

Who'd  caught  the  anguish  of  my  spell, 

Sat  down  an'  sobbed  by  the  old  corn  crib: 
••  'E  'ittle  b'ass  tittle,  i'  fell  in  'e  well!!" 


104 


THE  RACE  TO   THE   FIELD. 

As  if  a  life  was  hanging-  by  a  thread 

And  final  fate  depended  on  my  flight, 

With  whitened  face  and  hatless  head. 

I  flew  to  the  field  with  my  all  my  might. 


Across  the  furrows  with  wild 

acclaim 
An'  over  the  clods  I  stumbled 

and  fell 
And  from  my  lips  in  anguish 

came, 

"The  little!  brass  kettle!!  is 
in  the  well!!!" 


Far  into  the  field  was  heard  my  scream 
Inaudible,  and  yet  my  frightened  spell 

Borne  on  the  breeze  to  parent  ear  did  seem 
Like  news  of  death!  of  drowning  in  a  well! 

With  heart  in  mouth  and  apprehension  dire, 

A  race  for  life  of  one  he  loved  began, 
And  o'er  and  through  that  field  with  soul  afire 

At  desperate  speed  to  reach  that  well  he  ran. 

There  anxious  eyes  gazed  down  to  waters  calm — 
No  circumstance  of  death  to  start  sad  tears — 

But  heart-sick  from  fatigue,  and  strength  undone, 
That  race  brought  him  a  frightful  weight  of  years. 

What  fearful  havoc  oft  is  wrought  by  storm! 

What  strength  is  lost  by  labor  overdone! 
What  thoughtless  acts  in  youth  we  all  perform! 

What  fateful  steps  before  life's  race  is  run! 


105 


TEN  YEARS  AGO. 
X 

[February  27.  1887.] 

Dear  Friend — oft-times  I  think  of  long  ago: 
(Time  is  eventful,  and  changes  so) 
Ten  years  backward  shall  memory  turn 
To  glance  o'er  youth-time  and  efforts  to  learn 
Some  lesson  at  school!     I  was  there,  you  know. 
Ten  years  ago. 

The  halcyon  days  of  boyhood  are  past: 
Let  memory  recall  them,  for  while  it  doth  last 
'Twill  ever  recount  them  to  sift  some  bright  ember 
From  ashes  of  years  I  so  fondly  remember— 
Memory  tonight  is  whispering  low. 
Ten  years  ago. 

Why  is  it,  dear  one.  1  cannot  refrain, 
And  why,  furthermore,  do  you  never  complain 
Of  reading  the  products  of  my  feeble  pen 
That  tell  of  those  years  again  and  again? 
And  now  is  reviewing  with  rythmic  glow. 
Ten  years  ago. 

Ten  years  ago!  why  now  it  seems  to  me 
That  more  than  yesterday  it  cannot  be. 
When  I  with  boyish  mind  and  heart  began 
To  involve  myself  in  love's  sweet  plan. 
And  write  those  missives  now  cherished  so. 
Ten  years  ago. 

LJy  affection's  grasp  in  youthful  days. 
My  heart  was  bound  in  loving  wa\*s: 
And  on  my  pen  a  great  encumbrance  laid: 
Nor  shall  it  rest  until  thou'rt  paid- 
Sweet  debt  of  love,  I  first  began  to  owe. 
Ten  years  ago. 


1(1(5 


107 


"THE  DYING  TIME  OF  YEAP." 


| To  the  Memory  of   Kugene  Field.) 

The  days  were  bright  and  heavens  clear. 
But  there  was  a  sound  in  the  forest  near 
Whose  echo  fell  both  sad  and  drear 
On  the  listening  ear: 

'Twas  the  rustling  leaves 

In  the  autumn  breeze 

All  nature  sighing. 

Crying. 

"This  is  the  dying 
Time  of  year." 

A  home  was  filled  with  loving  light. 
The  lamp  of  life  was  burning  bright. 
No  thought  of  the  spirit  taking  (light 
From  one  so  dear 

But  hark!  without 

All  'round  about. 

The  sad  winds  sighing. 

Crying. 

"This  is  the  dying 
Time  of  year." 


I  OS 


No  thought  of  death's  angel  silently  creeping 
That  night  where  our  poet  was  calmly  sleeping. 
No  sign  nor  omen  of  loved  ones  weeping. 

No  thought  of  a  tear 
To  bring  relief, 
To  break  the  grief 
Of  scenes  of  death  so  trying- 
No  sighing — 
Simply  the  dying 
Time  of  year. 

Through  ages  progressive  since  worlds  began, 
No  words  more  impressive  were  spoken  by  man, 
Nor  faithful  allusion  to  nature's  great  plan. 
No  thought  more  dear: 

The  breezes  passing, 

Each  other  caressing, 

And  leaves  down  flying. 

Sighing, 

All  tell  of  the  dying 
Time  of  year. 


109 


A  SUMMONS. 
X 

It  was  no  crushing  weight  of  years 
That  summoned  the  soul  of  a  noble  wife. 

But  an  unkind  call  of  the  Reaper  Death 
Ere  she  had  reached  the  noon  of  life. 


DOWN  THE  VALLEY. 
X 

Down  death's  dark  valley, 
We're  going  "'one  by  one;" 

With  faces  all  turned  toward  the  setting  sun. 
A  great  human  throng,  since  the  world  begun. 

Down,  down  that  valley, 
Has  glided  "one  by  one." 

That  road  will  be  traveled  till  the  race  is  run. 
And  life's  procession  ends — The  world  is  done— 

When  all  down  the  valley 
Have  passed  "one  by  one.'' 


110 


LINES  TO  HIS  MEMORY, 


[William  Wallace  Gilbert,  died  April  15,  1897.  ] 

His  life  to  hope  gave  newer  birth 
As  bright  as  sunshine  from  the  sky. 

And  no  reminder  of  his  worth 
Can  song  or  elegy  supply. 

No  ill  to  man  e'er  filled  his  heart 
Nor  unjust  deel  e'er  dimmed  an  eye, 

But  sorrow  played  a  dismal  part 
When  God  decreed  this  man  should  die. 

The  tender  ones  of  childhood  know, 
Adore  and  love  his  kindly  ways, 

And  faltering  forms  of  age  bestow 
A  fulsome  gratitude  and  praise. 

A  hamlet  mourns — and  hundreds  more 
Have  shed  a  tear  or  breathed  a  sigh, 

And  'mid  this  sadness  all  deplore 
That  one  so  good  and  true  must  die. 

The  sorrowed  homes  of  grief  and  tears, 
That  now  seem  cheerless,  drear  and  cold, 

Will  brighter  be  in  coming  years 
As  his  life  story  oft  is  told. 


Ill 


GONE  WITH  THE  OLD  YEAR. 
X 

1  Miss  Mary  Wall.  Burton.  Indiana,  died  New  Year's  evr.  IH85.  | 

Hark!  the  requiem  of  the  dying  year. 

With  mournful  sound  to  many  an  ear. 

Is  borne  aloft:  its  plaintive  cries. 

Appear  ascending  toward  the  skies. 

Where  dwells,  whence  comes  this  mystic  power 

That  so  surrounds  and  desolates  the  hour! 

O.  why  should  we  in  sadness  bow  today. 

E'en  though  our  hopes  pass  unfulfilled  away. 

And  love  is  changed  to  hatred  and  to  scorn. 

Why  not  enlist  to  greet  £he  New  Year's  morn 

As  a  noble  harbinger  of  joyful  mien. 

That  fills  each  heart  with  boundless  hopes  serene:* 

Alas!  the  death  knell  of  the  parting  year 
May  toll  and  toll  again,  time  sheds  no  tear. 
But  when  the  door  of  death  swings  open  wide 
And  bids  a  dear  one  through  his  portals  glide. 
'Tis  sad  to  contemplate  such  scenes  of  grief 
And  vain  to  search  for  measures  of  relief. 

Time  in  its  flight  speeds  boldly  on  and  on. 
The  glimmerings  of  the  eastern  horizon 
Dispel  the  dismal  darkness  of  the  nig-ht. 
Betokens  the  return  of  day  aright: 
But  light  or  splendor  scenes  that  there  abound, 
Cannot  dispel  the  gloom  that  lurks  around. 


O  bright  New  Year,  why  so  unmindful  thou, 

Of  woes  that  flood  our  minds  and  hearts  just  now: 

Oh  let  your  light  so  graciously  given. 

Transmit  the  smiles  of  merciful  Heaven. 

Tell  us  the  one  that  we  so  sadly  miss 

Has  reached  another,  better  world  than  this. 

Upon  the  morrow  of  that  day  so  fair, 
All  cumbered  with  a  load  of  deep  despair, 
And  'midst  the  unkind  fall  of  chilly  rain, 
Moved  forth  the  solemn,  silent  fun'ral  train; 
Yes.  moved  with  mournful,  melancholy  tread. 
And  gently  laid  dear  Mary  'mong  the  dead. 

No  more  in  life  we'll  greet  her  smiling  face: 

But  time,  while  mem'ry  dwells,  cannot  erase 

Her  noble  qualities  of  heart  away. 

So  strong  the  sorrowed  impress  of  today. 

O  ''Precious  Faith"  that  guides  her  safely  o'er. 

Direct  our  barque  to  that  celestial  shore. 


113 


IN  HEAVEN  ONE  YEAR. 
X 

One  glance  backward  on  memory's  tide, 
Tells  us  the  day  that  Frankie  died, 
And  speaks  of  his  entering"  that  Heavenly  way. 
One  full,  long  year  ago  today. 

Why  view  that  day  as  one  of  sorrow  and  despair, 
And  why  encumber  life  with  loads  of  care. 
Or  cast  one  sigh  or  shed  one  tear. 
When  Frankie's  been  in  Heaven  a  year? 

Such  things  as  days  or  years  of  earthly  clime. 
Are  unnumbered  and  unknown  to  Heavenly  time: 
And  pray  what  worth  would  be  a  day  or  year. 
When  time  is  unending  and  eternal  there? 

Upon  his  grave  let  blossoming  flowers 
Impart  a  sweet  fragrance  to  lonely  hours, 
And  while  earthly  years  to  you  are  given. 
Just  count  them  all  as  time  for  him  in  Heaven. 


114 


A  SHINING  MARK. 

In  memory  of  Edna  May  Skeels,  died  January  19,  1896, 
igtd  twenty  years,  six  months  and  fifteen  days. 


Another  star  of  hope 

is  gone, 
Another  home  is  dark 

to-day; 

Another  spirit  passing  on 
To  Heaven's  bright. 

celestial  way. 


This  star  (a  mem'ry  loved  and  cherished  so) 
Upon  the  day  all  patriots  love  to  know, 
Its  sparkling  gleam  began— its  afterglow 
Has  brightened  time  since  twenty  years  ago. 

A  mother's  love,  a  mother's  tears, 
A  mother's  care  a  score  of  years 
Guided  her  steps  of  life  aright 
And  made  for  home  a  shining  light, 
The  joy  of  mother,  of  father,  brother, 
And  life-time  hope  of  yet  another. 

When  there  goes  out  a  star  like  this  one  bright 
Which  'round  the  home  has  shed  a  radiant  light, 
We  wonder  not  that  darkness  spreads  its  pall. 
And  throws  a  shadow  o'er  the  hopes  of  all. 

The  only  solace  left  behind, 

To  soothe  and  heal  those  broken  ties, 
Are  farewell  words,  so  sweet,  so  kind; 

To  meet  and  greet  beyond  the  skies. 


115 


CROWNED  BY  ANGEL  HANDS. 
X 

1  To  the  memory  of  Frances  E.  Willard.] 

The  world  was  her  field,  and  human  good 
Was  the  broad  plain  on  which  she  stood, 
'i  titling  with  mind,  and  heart,  and  hand, 
"For  God  and  Home  and  Every  Land.'1 
Serenely  with  ties  of  love  that  bind, 
She  built  the  hopes  of  womankind. 

She  is  gone!     And  her  going, 
To  the  cultured  and  knowing, 
Is  a  sad  forsaking, 
And  much  like  the  breaking 

Of  a  branch  from  the  tree, 
Or  the  out-going  of  some  bright  star 
Set  as  a  sentinel  in  skies  afar 

To  light,  and  brighten  the  home  of  the  free 

(jone!     The  wide  world  is  mourning. 
And  a  nation  is  frowning 

At  the  sorrow  that  is  strewn  wide  and  far 
As  the  act  of  some  demon 
Who  would  rob  us  as  freemen 

By  despoiling  the  Hag  of  a  star. 

(Jone!     And  the  moan  of  the  breeze. 
As  it  sighs  through  the  trees, 

Sings  the  sad  story 
Of  the  broken-hearted, 
For  a  loved  one  departed 

From  scenes  of  her  earthly  glory. 
To  glittering  shores  where  angels  throng. 
In  worlds  of  light,  and  love,  and  song. 


116 


"From  Greenland's  icy  mountains 

From  India's  coral  strand." 
From  every  state  and  country 

Of  near  and  distant  land. 
And  e'en  from  the  islands  of  the  seas. 
Her  praise  is  born  on  every  breeze- 
In  every  clime,  by  every  Christian  tongue. 
The  anthems  of  that  praise  are  sung. 

Of  life  she  chose  the  better  part. 

And  scorned  the  mockery  of  art: 

From  the  home  of  the  lowly  this  woman  came 

To  be  crowned  with  the  laurels  of  a  well-earned  fame: 

As  g-entle  and  sweet  as  the  flowers  that  bloom. 

As  rich  in  reverence  as  the  tears  at  her  tomb. 

This  uncrowned  queen  of  many  lands 

Has  received  her  crown  from  antrel  hands 

Gone  from  the  homes 

Of  our  land,  and  from  the  domes 

Of  the  churches  and  temples  are  ringing 
Those  requiem  bells 
Whose  deep  tone  tells 
Of  the  sad  deprivation 
That's  befallen  the  nation — 

But  the  angels  are  joyfully  singing. 

Gone!     And  the  grief  of  the  hours. 
And  the  strewing  of  flowers. 

And  the  flow  of  sad  tears. 
Are  invoking  a  tribute  of  love. 
And  sending  their  message  above. 

To  honor  her  labor  of  years. 


117 


118 


119 


AN  INQUIRY. 
X 

Dear  "Old  Vet"  of  the  fast  fading  past  - 

Ye  who  gallantly  fought  from  first  to  last 

Do  you  suppose  the  time  will  come  again. 

When  valiant  armies  of  valiant  men. 

Will  march  responsive  to  their  country's  call 

And  fight — when  fight  most  likely  means  to  fall: 

THE   ANSWER. 

Ah,  friend,  I  fear  the  time  has  not  yet  come. 
When  armies  treading  to  the  beat  of  drum 
Shall  cease  to  meet,  and  in  fierce  war's  array. 
Assail  each  other,  mangle,  wound  and  slay: 
The  time  will  come,  however.  I  believe. 
When  mankind,  learning  wisdom,  will  achieve 
Each  other's  happiness  and  highest  good 
By  deeds  of  love  and  not  by  deeds  of  blood : 
Then  strife  will  be  unknown  and  war  will  cease 
And  all  mankind  will  dwell  in  love  and  peace. 

—  !H.  H.   I'. 


1-10 


A  "WAH"  PROPHECY. 
X 

Shud  Uncle  Sam  find  out 

Dem  Spanyerds  sunk  de  Maine, 

An'  blew  dem  sailors  in  de  sea. 
A  "Teat  big  wah  wud  shuah  kum  'bout- 
Like  cullud  men  in  Linkum's  reign. 
Dem  Cubans  wud  be  free. 

If  wah  should  ebber  kum 
'Twix  Uncle  Sam  and  Spain, 

Dem  Cubans  shuah  be  free: 
We'd  heah  de  beatiir  drum 
In  de  Yankee's  army  train 
"From  Atlanter  to  de  sea." 


WEYLER  WITH  HER  YET, 
X 

However  much  old  Spain  may  now  abhor 
Her  prospects  with  Insurgent  bands 

One  thing  she  may  be  thankful  for, 
She  still  has  Weyler  on  her  hands. 


121 


WILD  NOTES  OF  WAR. 
X 

(During  the  Venezuela  affair. | 

Old  Jonny  Bull  has  been  quite  badly  scored 
13}-  the  pen  that's  mightier  than  the  sword: 
There's  a  war  of  words  a  ragin'  just  now 
That  may  yet  result  in  a  world-wide  row: 
The  old  vet's  blood  is  boilin'  up  ag'in. 
There's  a  sight  o'  talk  "bout  musterin'  in. 

Unless  the  Old  Lion  his  aggression  relaxes. 
The  Modern  Woodmen  will  whet  up  their  axes 
An'  saddle  the  goats  on  next  meetin'  night 
An'  march  as  cavalry  into  the  fight: 
And  the  K.  of  P.  with  helmets  Hashing 
Will  show  them  the  art  of  sabre-slashing. 

Uncle  Bill  Williams  who  lately  came  back 
From  hot  pursuit  of  a  wild  bear's  track. 
Way  down  in  the  woods  of  Arkansaw 
Where  they  pay  no  'tention  to  huntin'  law. 
Has  his  patriot  blood  risin'  up  in  him 
And  is  organizin'  in  battle  trim. 

He  expects  to  command  the  volunteers 
And  make  'em  all  colonels  and  brigadiers: 
And  being  familiar  with  bills  of  fare 
He'll  treat  the  foragin'  part  with  care: 
And  as  a  "war  measure"  to  set  things  aglow. 
He's  promisin'  pensions  before  they  go. 


122 


GOING. 
X. 

Some  are  going"  oft'  to  war. 
To  sail  a  Cuban  sea 
And  help  make  Cuba  free— 

And  some  not  going  quite  so  far, 
For  some  there  be  who'd  "rarther'' 
Go  just  so  far  and  go  no  farther. 

Some  are  going  with  flag  and  banner. 
Some  going  now  and  some  next  fall. 
And  some,  perhaps,  not  going  at  all. 

Some  are  going  to  join  Camp  Tanner. 
Then  going  not  to  leave  'er 
"For  fear  of  yellow  fever." 

Some  are  off  to  Klondyke,  knowing 

The  perils  of  its  cold, 

A-going  there  for  gold. 
There's  a  sight  o'  talk  of  "going," 

Some  for  glory  and  some  for  pay, 
And  those  not  going,  are  going-to  stay. 


APPROPRIATE  EVERYWHERE. 
X 

The  American  Flag  is  an  "all-'round"  rag 

That  Hoats  in  victory  or  waves  in  peace. 

Unfurls  in  war  and  when  wars  cease: 

Emblem  of  country  that  patriots  love. 

Its  stars  are  types  of  those  above. 

Its  glowing  colors  of  red,  white  and  blue. 

Mingle  together  in  gorgeous  hue: 

fts  silken  folds  so  rich  and  sweet 

Never  appear  so  pretty  and  neat. 

Are  never  so  graceful  as  when  wars  cease. 

And  it  proudly  waves  as  a  standard  of  peace. 


POSSIBILITIES. 
X 

It  wouldn't  s'prise  me  that  now  purty  soon 
They'd  be  singin'  songs  without  any  tune. 
And  some  new  rule,  or  some  new  law, 
Beatin'  anything  the  world  ever  saw. 
Would  be  figured  out  'fore  very  long, 
To  prove  the  earth's  been  revolvin'  wrong. 

When  somethin'  else's  wanted,  all  new-fangled. 
S'pose  they'll  fix  up  the  old  star-spangled 
Banner  that  Hoats  o'er  the  land  of  the  free, 
In  some  new  rig  that'll  puzzle  you  and  me 
To  tell  it's  our  Hag — the  world  and  its  ways 
Hev  all  changed  so  since  old-time  days. 


124 


TO  HEROES  OF  THE  SEA. 
X 

O  sing'  the  praise  of  the  jolly  tar 
Who  braves  the  dangers  of  the  sea. 

Who  carries  the  flag  to  ports  afar. 
O  sing"  it  long  and  joyfully. 

O  sing  of  Dewey  at  Manila  bay. 

And  let  all  join  the  glad  refrain. 
For  daring"  deeds  the  first  of  May 

That  sank  the  ships  of  treacherous  Spain. 

O  sing-  of  sailors  far  away. 

Among  the  perils  of  a  simoon  sea. 
Of  the  gallant  crews  who  fought  that  day 

For  the  glorious  cause  of  liberty. 

O  sing  of  Sampson  and  Sigsbee  and  Schley. 

In  sun-kissed  waters  of  sultry  seas. 
Remember  the  motto  that  floats  mast-high 

Majestic  in  each  passing  breeze. 

O  sing  of  heroes  in  time  gone  by. 

O  sing  of  the  heroes  of  today, 
And  honor  the  memory  of  those  who  lie 

Beneath  the  waters  of  Havana  bav. 


ODE  TO  CUBA'S  FREEDOM. 
A; 

().  "Gem  of  the  Antilles"  set  out  in  the  sea. 
Have  faith  in  thy  tight  for  sweet  libertj"! 
An  army  and  navy  will  rescue  thee. 
And  patriot  sons  will  soon  set  free. 

Thy  fettered  band. 

On  slave-cursed  land! 

Free  from  the  hellish  tyrant's  reign! 

Free  from  the  streams  of  blood  that  stain 

Thy  country!     Free  from  fetters  of  the  despot's  chain! 

Free  from  the  yoke  of  merciless  Spain! 

Free,  oh  Cuban  land. 

From  the  tyrant's  hand! 

Fight  on.  oh  Cuban!  Americans  boast 
That  patriots  thrive  along  her  coast! 
Oh  fearful  thy  fate  should  freedom  be  lost! 
Fight  till  you  vanquish  that  Spanish  host. 

And  the  tyrants  flee 

O'er  the  trackless  sea! 

Fight  on,  oh  Cuban!  though  plantations  be  curled 
In  smoke  and  flame,  till  the  demon  is  hurled 
To  sea!    On  rampart  and  field  let  thy  flag  be  unfurled 
Till  victorj-  is  echoed  around  the  world! 

Oh  patriot,  fight  on 

Till  thy  freedom  is  won! 


The  country  that  gave  to  liberty  birth. 
And  nurtured  its  life  when  there  was  a  dearth 
Of  sympathy  for  freedom's  glorious  worth. 
Will  aid  thee  join  the  republics  of  earth — 

Thou  struggling"  band 

On  Spain-cursed  land! 

Thy  battle,  oh  Cuba,  'tis  not  all  in  vain! 
The  friends  of  liberty  will  never  disdain 
Thy  efforts  to  sever  from  Spanish  domain. 
And  the  priceless  boon  of  freedom  to  gain! 

'Tis  our  message  to  the. 

Oh  Isle  of  the  sea! 

Then  let  grand  monuments  upon  thy  battle  plain. 
Rise  sacred  to  the  memory  of  thy  noble  slain 
Who  resisted  the  rule  of  tyrannical  Spain. 
And  sundered  the  links  of  the  despot's  chain — 

When  thou'rt  set  free. 

Oh  Gem  of  the  Sea! 


127 


128 


TO  A  BRIDE. 
X 

Incomparable  thou,  oh  happy  bride, 

And  yet  we  would  liken  the  glow  of  thy  pride. 

And  the  lamp  of  thy  love  that  is  burning  so  bright, 

To  something  of  earth  or  heavenly  light: 

To  laughing  waters  which  down  the  mountain  flow, 

Or  the  lily  that  blooms  in  the  valley  below: 

We  would  liken  thy  life,  thy  hope  and  thy  love 

To  the  trusting  innocence  of  a  gentle  dove. 

To  the  chimes  of  music  or  rythm  of  words, 

To  the  gladsome  notes  of  mating  birds 

Singing  their  merriest  and  sweetest  tune: 

To  the  fairest  and  rarest  rose  of  June 

We  would  liken  thee  through  life  to  come, 

Thou  queen  of  a  new  and  happy  home. 


129 


TEN  LINES  TO  TEN  YEARS. 
A: 

|  December  ->7.  1897.] 

Ten  years  in  union  have  been  passed. 

The  first  for  love,  for  love  the  last: 

Ten  winters  of  gay  and  joyous  chime. 

Ten  summers  of  flowers  and  son^  and  rime. 

Ten  cycles  complete  of  earthly  clime. 

Ten  shadows  on  the  dial  of  time: 

Ten  years  'twould  take  of  care  and  thought. 

To  tell  the  things  which  that  ten  brought — 

The  toil  and  trials  of  that  dear  ten. 

The  hopes  that  fell  and  rose  again. 


A  MEMORY. 
X 

That  happy  day,  one  week  ago. 

That  placed  a  peaceful  crown  of  light 
Upon  my  life,  did  well  its  part 

If  one  was  given  you  as  bright. 


A  BIRTH-DAY  WISH. 
A 

Dear  friend,  I  wish  for  you  tonight. 
One  hundred  years  of  happy  life. 
All  filled  with  peace  and  joyous  light. 
All  free  from  danger  and  from  strife. 

If  every  friend  should  wish  for  thee, 
As  much  before  tomorrow  dawned. 

Unending  years  would  be  your  lot, 

'Twould  rob  you  of  your  home  beyond. 


THREE  MONTHS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 
X 

This  day  must  picture  beauty  rare: 
It  brings  event  to  you  quite  fair. 
And  one  to  us  that's  ever  dear — 
It  marks  three  months  of  thy  first  year. 


131 


CLUBS. 
X 

I've  heard  of  clubs  since  I  was  born 
Until  the  thought  of  clubs  I  fairly  scorn: 
They're  thick  as  snow-flakes  or  April  showers, 
Yes,  clubs  are  trumps  in  this  town  of  ours. 

The  boys  and  girls  and  women  and  their  hubs 
Spend  half  their  time  attending  clubs; 
And  all  you  hear  when  on  the  streets 
Is  something  about  when  the  next  club  meets. 


TO  A  GRADUATING  CLASS. 
X 

[June  19.  1891.] 

You  gathered  sweet  flowers  to  deck  the  halls. 
And  garlands  beautiful  arrayed  the  walls: 
Mottoes  festooned  with  appropriate  wreaths 
And  "Gang  Warily"  twined  in  evergreen  leaves. 

Your  school  days  are  over,  before  you  is  life, 
With  its  storm  and  sunshine,  pleasure  and  strife: 
May  your  pathway  ever  be  strewn  with  flowers 
Which  only  bloom  brighter  because  of  the  shower;- 


GO  GATHER  THE  GEMS. 
X 

Go  gather  the  gems  from  the  world's  wide  field, 
The  lights  of  life,  with  the  darkness  dispelled, 

And  set  those  stars  on  one  bright  shield, 
The  likes  of  whose  beauty  none  ever  beheld. 


POETIC  "FEET"  DISPLACED. 


The  kind  o'  poems  I  allus  like 

Aint  simply  those  jes'  trim  an'  neat. 
Which  glide  along-  smooth  as  yer  bike. 

With  rime  an'  rythm  all  complete. 
But  words  sublime,  of  deep  intent, 

Which  sift  the  chaff  out  of  the  wheat 
Which  form  the  poem's  sentiment 

And  kind-a  sweep  it  off  its  "feet." 


A  SEVERE  STROKE. 


'Neath  one  fell  blow  our  hopes  expired. 
Ruthlessly  crushed  by  the  girl  that's  hired. 
Perusing  the  columns  of  the  dear  old  TIMES, 
Her  optics  caught  onto  one  of  our  rimes 
She  read  it  through  and  with  earnest  face, 
Reflecting  the  honesty  of  her  race, 
Glanced  at  her  mistress  with  an  inquiring  look 
Asking  the  question:     ''Hez  yer  husband  a  book' 
(Oh,  shades  of  chagrin!     "A  book!"     "A  book!") 
"From  which  this  poem  was  'riginally  took'?'' 


SUSPICIOUS  OF  THE  BRITISH. 
X 

'Tis  said  the  most  apparent  reason  why 

That  this  world's  brightly  beaming  sun 
Ne'er  leaves  its  orbit  in  the  sky. 

Nor  feels  its  task  but  just  begun, 
And  never  sits  on  England's  vast  domain. 

Because  the  Lord  so  fears  the  British  shark. 
And  knows  so  well  his  greed  for  gold  and  gain, 

He  will  not  trust  him  in  the  dark. 


133 


DREAM  OF  THE  TEACHER  MAN. 


One  calm  and  still  November  night, 

The  teacher  man 
Dreamed  a  dream  of  great  delight: 

A  prize-trip  plan 
Lay  pictured  out  before  his  mind. 

And  many  a  scheme 
Kindred  to  wishes  of  his  kind. 

Was  solved  by  dream. 

Just  how  secure  the  votes  to  win 

That  glorious  prize — 
A  thing  that  ever  puzzled  him 

With  opened  eyes — 
All  seemed  clear  in  rapturous  dreams: 

And  midst  this  spell 
Nature's  grandest  view,  where  beauty  teems. 

Across  his  vision  fell. 

And  then  this  dreamy  teacher  man. 
Of  whom  we  tell — 

Who  thought  he'd  found  a  winning  plan- 
Awakened  from  his  spell. 

How  disappointing  it  must  have  been 
To  one  like  him  involved. 

E'en  though  by  dream  in  earnest  hope  to  win. 
To  have  that  hope  dissolved! 


WAYS  OF  THE  WORLD. 
X 

Of  all  the  people  to  church  who  go. 

This  day  and  age,  the  number  is  few 

Who  seek  a  seat  in  a  forward  pew: 
But  let  it  be  to  an  opera  show. 

For  an  evening  of  the  world's  to-do. 

It  may  be  said,  alas  how  true! 
They  take  their  seat  in  "bald-head  row. 


1  14 


THE  WRITER  AND  THE  FIGHTER. 
X 

An  author  and  a  pugilist  met  one  day, 

The  writer  grave,  the  fighter  gay, 

And  as  the  two  did  wander  along, 

So  goes  the  story  and  the  song, 

This  was  what  they  were  heard  to  say: 

(The  author  grave  and  the  fighter  gay) 

''Oh  what  shall  I  write  today?" 

"Oh  whom  shall  I  fight  today?'' 

And  the  writer  wrote  and  wrote  and  thought, 

And  the  fighter  fought  and  fought  and  fought, 

One  with  his  pen  which  he  dips  and  shoves. 

The  other  equipped  with  lips  and  gloves. 

The  writer's  writings  came  to  naught 

And  the  fighter  got  whipped  in  the  fight  he  fought. 

The  author  no  longer  in  the  ink  doth  plunge 

And  the  fighter  has  quit  and  thrown  up  the  sponge. 


REGULATED  BY  THE  MOON. 
X 

Don't  blame  the  boys  who  go  to  Crescent  for  a  "smile. 

Or  down  at  Old  Town  to  practice  many  a  "shine," 
When  the  old  moon  sets  and  example  vile. 

And  in  a  single  month  gets  "full"  a  second  time. 


EDITORS  TAKE  IT  TOO. 
X 

That  measly  old  monster 

Surnamed  "La  Grippe," 
Who  is  takin'  in  America 

On  a  two  years'  trip. 
Invaded  our  sanctum — 

By  an  infamous  sneak 
And  caught  the  editor 

In  his  "grip"  this  \veek. 

135 


TRIUMPH. 
X 

Oft-times  the  ordeals  of  misfortune  dire. 

Survived,  resisted,  o'erpowered  and  outdone. 
Impel  us  on  with  new  fervor  and  zeal. 

And  life  is  more  glorious  for  battles  won. 


LIFE  LINES. 


A  "Life  Line"  held  by  friendly  hands 
May  rescue  one  from  sinking"  sands, 
Or  guide  them  from  some  danger  shore. 
Where  clouds  are  gathering  more  and  more. 
To  hope's  inland,  where  sun-bright  rays 
Dispel  the  mists  of  dismal  ways  — 
Where  life's  ambition  is  recast 
And  freed  from  turmoil  of  a  past. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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Tliis  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Perm  L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 


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